Mutants With Dirty Faces
by nyssa123
Summary: Sequel to "Dial M For Mutant." Erik returns three years after killing Shaw and discovers that everything he knew has changed and that there's a gang war raging- a war he indirectly caused. And that's before Charles Xavier walks back into his life...
1. In Which Gas Is Purchased

The garage was empty, a quiet concrete space filled with a few cars in various states of dismemberment. A long-limbed man was lounging in an aluminum chair under the awning of the building, smoke drifting around him like a personal cloud. He glanced up as I approached, squinting up at me from under his baseball cap and blinking slowly, languidly, in the mid-day sun. He looked like a scarecrow that had come to life and then decided to spend all day smoking gage.

"You need gas?" He drawled, pulling back his cap to scratch at his hairline. I nodded. He looked me up and down, taking in my dark gray suit and fedora with a raised eyebrow and glancing behind me. "That your car?"

"Yes." I held back a wince as he whistled shrilly, getting to his feet with the unhurried, leisurely movements of a lizard.

"Damn, she's a real dish." He said appreciatively, running a hand over the hood. "Must've cost you a pretty penny."

I shrugged, remembering the dealership I had pinched it from back in Massachusetts. "I got a pretty sweet deal, actually."

"I'll bet." The mechanic grinned. "How much gas you need?"

"Just fill her up."

I leaned against the trunk as the mechanic retreated into the cool dark of the garage, returning a few seconds later with a greasy rag and a red plastic container. The city shimmered in the distance, undulating in my vision like it was underwater. The heat coming off of the asphalt turned everything into a mirage, and I felt sweat on my brow that had nothing to do with the dark fabric of my suit. Inhaling deeply, I tried not to breath in the heady, sickening scent of fuel that pervaded the air, tried to relax. The last time I had seen the city-my city, but not anymore- I had been driving in the opposite direction.

It had been a long time.

"Hey. Buddy." I turned around to see the mechanic offering me a drooping deck of Luckies fished out of the breast pocket of his overalls. "Wanna smoke?"

I eyed the puddles of gasoline on the ground warily. "No thanks."

"Your loss." He stuck one in his mouth and returned the pack to its denim hiding place, wiping his hands on the rag. "That's your car all done. Anything else?"

"No, that's fine. How much for that?"

"It's ten cents a gallon."

I did the calculations in my head and pulled out my wallet, digging around to find the cash I owed him. He jerked his head down the road, patting the car's fender.

"You headin' to the city?" He asked. I nodded, still rifling through my greenbacks for exact change. "Is it your first time visiting?"

"No." I handed him the payment, shaking my head. "I've been traveling, and I'm coming back."

The mechanic clapped me on the shoulder. "Good for you, pal. Been away long?"

"Yeah." I got into my car. He tapped on the window and I rolled it down, starting to get frustrated. "What? Did I count my nickels wrong?"

"No, you're good, I was just wondering…" He pointed at me thoughtfully. "I could swear I'd seen you before."

I felt my body tense. "No. I don't think we've met."

He frowned. "What's your name?"

"Max Eisenhardt." The alias slipped off my tongue seamlessly. I had a lot of time to practice- it was my third fake name in as many years. "What's yours?" I asked, trying to direct the conversation away from myself.

"Oh." He grinned and thrust a greasy hand through the open window. I shook it tentatively. "I'm Sam Guthrie."

"Well, Sam," I tried my best to make my smile look apologetic, but it probably came out as threatening. "I just have one of those faces. I don't think we know each other. Sorry."

"That's okay. Have a safe trip back home." His attention had drifted off again. The cigarette he had offered me still lay unlit between his lips.

"Thank you." I said, revving my engine. "I will."


	2. In Which I Experience Jubilation

For some reason I had thought that the city would welcome me back, embracing me like a faithful lover. Instead, it reacted more like a scorned dame.

I swore, glaring out the windows at the unfamiliar street. The car inched along, wheels moving slowly as I craned my head to read the green rectangular signs, trying to figure out where I was. Did the place change while I was gone, or had I just forgotten my way around? It was hard to tell. Side alleys seemed to have popped up where none had been before, storefronts had disappeared and switched around, street names had changed- it was a nightmare to navigate. I toyed with the idea of ditching the car and just finding my way on foot. After all, my suitcase wasn't very heavy, the only objects inside being the same rotating set of clothes I had worn since I left and the photo of my mother tucked inside a copy of _The Metamorphosis_.

I parked by the sidewalk and got out, pulling my suitcase out of the back seat. I hailed down a man in a business suit.

"Hey, you. Want a new car?"

He narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously. "That depends. How much are you asking for it?"

I shrugged. "However much you feel comfortable with. I have to get rid of it quickly, the ball and chain doesn't like it." I glanced back at the car. My ex-wife, Magda, actually probably would have loved it, all sleek black lines and style. It wasn't my taste in vehicles that she'd been opposed to; it had just been me in general. "It's brand new, tank full of gas, the works."

"How's a Jackson?" The businessman waved a twenty-dollar bill in front of my face. I nodded hastily.

"That's keen. Here are the keys." We exchanged and I headed off down the road, bag in hand and coat thrown over my arm. I squinted up at the street signs, trying to re-orient myself. There were detours, intersections, whole roads that had been built, destroyed, re-routed. Some of the streets had different names. Who the fuck does that? I wondered for a second if I was even in the right city.

I slogged along the sidewalk, trying to find something I recognized. The longer I walked the heavier my suitcase seemed to become, the hotter I seemed to get in my coat. It was wool, and though we were well into September, the heat wave that had turned August into a hotbox all over the country hadn't broken yet. Some men on the streets were in shirtsleeves and vests and women sat on their front steps, fanning themselves lazily with folded-up papers.

It got hotter as I moved into Chinatown, the air sweltering and heavy with steam that billowed out of open door and windows, carrying the overpowering scent of crispy fucks revolving on rotisseries. I passed people arguing with street vendors, a skinny dog gnawing on a bone. This was better- I recognized where I was now. The alleys and corners of Chinatown were unchanged, and the more time I spent taking in the familiar sights the calmer I felt myself become.

I sat down on the sidewalk, shrugging off my coat. A few feet away, a little girl in a bright yellow dress was jumping rope, muttering a rhyme under her breath. The look of concentration on her face was so focused and serious that I couldn't help but smile. She faltered and tripped over the rope as she caught my eye and smiled back.

"Ni hao ma." I said, the extent of my limited Chinese. The girl giggled.

"Your accent is terrible." She held out a hand.

I shook it. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

She cocked her head to one side exaggeratedly. "Aren't you hot?"

"Very." I tugged at my tie and undid my top button. "Crazy weather, huh?"

"Mm hm." She nodded, her black pigtails bobbing. "My grandma says it hasn't been this bad since she was a kid."

"Grandma?"

She jerked her thumb up at the apartment building behind her, "My grandmother. I live with her because my mom couldn't be bothered to take care of me and my dad ran away before I was born."

I blinked. "You're awfully grown up."

"I'm eight, not stupid." She grinned. "I'm Jubilation Lee, by the way, but you can call me Jubilee. My grandmother says that means a really big party. Parties are great."

I tipped my hat. "I'm…" I hesitated for a second. It couldn't be too dangerous to tell and eight year-old girl my real name. "I'm Erik."

A man in a shabby suit jogged up to us, waving wildly. His slicked black hair flopped out of place over his glistening forehead and he smiled as Jubilee warmly. She waved back.

"Good morning, Dr. Wong!"

He adjusted his glasses, out of breath. "Hello, Jubilation. Is your grandmother in?"

"Uh huh." She leaned forward conspiratorially and hissed in a stage whisper, "Her arthritis is bothering her today."

Dr. Wong nodded sagely. "That's probably the humidity getting to her joints." He glanced up at me. "Hi. I haven't seen you around here before."

I shook my head. "I'm just passing through. Jubilee and I were discussing the weather."

He let out a chuckle. "Yet another innocent bystander ensnared by Jubilee's big mouth. Good luck with that."

"Hey!" She crossed her arms over her chest, pouting. 'I don't talk that much.""

"Mei mei, you could talk the ear off an elephant." Wong patted her head fondly. "Anyway, your grandmother is expecting me. I'll see you soon, okay?"

The small girl nodded. "Okay."

Wong reached over to shake my hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

Jubilee tugged at my elbow as Wong made in way up the steps. "Where are you from?"

"Around." She raised her eyebrows incredulously. "I used to live downtown but I had to go away for a while."

"How long?"

"Three years."

Her eyes widened. "That's like forever."

I shook my head. "You have no idea."

She sat down beside me. Across the street, a green car was idling, smoke spilling out the exhaust pipe. "Are you happy to be home?"

"I suppose." I thought wistfully about how much I missed my old apartment. The hotel rooms I had been staying in as I traveled from town to town, city-to-city had all started to blend together after a while, and I had almost forgotten what my old room looked like. The apartment probably had new owners now; my lease had been about to expire when I jumped town. "I missed it here, you know? But it's changed a lot since I left."

"Grandmother says the city never stops moving. It doesn't wait for people."

I nodded. "Your grandmother is a smart woman."

As if on cue the front door opened and Dr. Wong came out, followed by a stooped old woman. She nodded to him warmly, smiling. "Xie xie, Dr. Wong."

"It's not problem, Mrs. Lee. Just make sure to keep pressure off your knees, alright?"

"Of course." She caught sight of her granddaughter. "Jubilation, sweetheart, come in! It's almost lunchtime."

Jubilee leapt to her feet. I looked up, glancing around as I dusted off my suit.

Suddenly a flash caught my eye. I squinted at the car across the street and froze as I saw the silver barrel of a machine gun poking out of the open window.

"Get down!" I shouted, launching myself towards Jubilee. I knocked her to the ground, covering her small body with mine just as the bullets began to fly.

Dr. Wong and Mrs. Lee didn't even have time to scream. I could hear the rat-a-tat-tat as the Tommy gun spat lead from it's hiding place, the soft sucking sounds of bullets meeting flesh, the crash of broken windows. Shards of shattered glass rained down on my back. There was the roar of the car's engine as it sped away, and then silence.

Well, except for the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I lay on the sidewalk, my limbs wrapped protectively around Jubilee. My ears were still ringing with the boom of the gunshots, but I raised my head to look down at the little girl. "Are you alright?" I panted.

She nodded slowly as she lifted her hand fro the ground, her palm and fingers stained red by the stream of blood running down the incline of the sidewalk. I glanced up at the mangled bodies of Dr. Wong and Mrs. Lee and pulled her to my chest in a hug so that she wouldn't see.

"It's going to be okay, Jubilee." I muttered uselessly. "It's going to be okay."

I heard a cut-off scream and looked up to see a skinny Asian dame with her hands clasped over her mouth. She had almost tripped over the bodies on the steps.

"Oh my God." She chocked out, her voice cracking. A short man in a flannel shirt appeared behind her, his dark hair sticking up in all directions, and swore loudly as he caught sight of the corpses. My breath caught tin my throat as I recognized him and I ducked my head down, hoping to not be noticed.

"Jubilee!" The little girl's head shot up as the broad ran towards her, her heels clicking a tattoo on the pavement. She scooped her out of my arms and hugged her tightly before giving her a once over "Are you hurt?"

"I'm okay." Her voice was small, her eyes wide. "Are they dead?"

"Oh honey." The woman embraced the girl again, stroking her disheveled hair. "I'm so sorry."

"Betsy, I'm gonna phone this in to the station, get a squad car down here on cleanup. "A deep voice growled from above. "You should-" He paused suddenly and I winced. The game was up. "Lensherr? Is that you?"

I raised my chin sheepishly and met the other man's eyes. "Hi, Logan. Long time no see."

Logan raised an eyebrow, which was as close to a dropped jaw as he ever got. "No kidding." He glanced at Jubilee in the woman- Betsy-'s arms. "You get the kid out of the way?"

I nodded.

"Thanks." Crouching down next to the two girls, he pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket. "Betsy, take these two inside. Keep 'em upstairs until I come back."

"Look, I can just leave…" I got to my feet.

"Bullshit. I don't want any of the guys on the squad to see you; they'll arrest you in a second. Go in and I'll tell you when it's safe to leave." Catching sight of Betsy's nervous frown, he shook his head. "He's safe, Bets, don't worry."

She sighed. "Okay, fine. Let's-" her voice faltered as she glanced back at the bodies on the front step. "Let's go in the back door."


	3. In Which There's A Reunion

Betsy kept an eye on Jubilee as she grabbed some things from her bedroom. I lingered in the doorway of the Lee's apartment, feeling awkward. Betsy produced a cigarette and a box of matches from one of the many pockets on her navy dress, offering me one. I took it gratefully.

"I don't think we've been properly introduced." She said, dropping the extinguished match into the sink. She seemed at home in the Lee's kitchen, and I guessed that she spent a lot of time there. "I'm Betsy Braddock."

"Braddock?"

"My ex-husband was a _gaijin_." She shrugged. "I guess I have a type."

I blew a mouthful of smoke out, the nicotine in my lungs dulling the rush of adrenaline in my veins. "You're dating Logan?"

She held out her hand, flashing a small diamond ring. "We're engaged. Thank you for not assuming I was a hooker."

I shrugged. "I like to think that Logan has slightly higher standards than that." I squinted at her. "You're not Chinese."

"My parents were from Japan, came over before the war." Sitting down on a stool at the counter, Betsy shot me an appraising look. "How do you know my fiancé?"

"We used to work together."

"You're a cop?"

"Used to be."

She took a cool drag on her cigarette. "What are you now?"

"Private detective." I said as Jubilee emerged from her room, carrying a packed suitcase behind her. Betsy stood up, taking the little girl's hand.

"Do you have everything you need?"

She nodded. "Where am I going?"

"You can stay with me for a few days. Just until we track down your mom. Sound good?"

"Okay." Jubilee said as she climbed the narrow staircase, squeezed between Betsy's side and the railing. I followed them, my suitcase bumping against he wall.

Betsy's apartment was small and smelled overpoweringly of cigars- Logan clearly spent a lot of time there. She opened a widow as Jubilee sat down on the couch, looking very small in her grimy yellow dress. We could hear the wail of a siren getting closer, loud and clear through the everyday hum of traffic.

"Can I get your something to drink?" Betsy asked gently, laying a hand on Jubilee's shoulder "Water? Milk?"

"Water would be nice."

She disappeared into eh kitchen. I tossed a throw pillow to the side and settled down next to Jubilee. The little girl looked up at me, brown eyes glassy. "I don't know what to do."

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders remembering how I'd felt when my mother died. "You're probably in shock. It's normal."

"My grandmother is dead. Dr. Wong is dead." She stared at me. "Should I be crying?"

I stared back. "I don't know."

Betsy returned from the kitchen, handing Jubilee a glass. She downed the water in one gulp as Betsy turned her attention to me. "You still haven't told me your name."

"Oh. Sorry." I blinked. "I'm Erik. Erik Lensherr."

Betsy's eyes widened. "You're Erik Lensherr?"

"Um. Yes."

"Huh." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I've heard a lot about you."

"You have? Should I be worried?"

"Probably. Logan says hat there's still a warrant out for your arrest." A smirk crossed her face. "Is it true that you're the one who dropped Sebastian Shaw?"

"That depends. Ask me again hen the warrant's been revoked." I stubbed out my cigarette in a tin ashtray on Betsy's coffee table.

"Well if you did do it, I'd say thank you. That man was scum." She glanced out the window for a second contemplatively. "Though I guess if you think indirectly, what just happened was sort of your fault…"

I did a double take, sputtering angrily. "Excuse me?"

And then the door banged open and the last person I wanted to see stomped into the room.

"What the HELL are you doing here?" Moira McTaggart yelled, her hands on her hips.

Logan bounded up the stairs after her, giving me an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, bub. I tried to keep her out but she recognized your coat."

I realized that I had left the woolen jacket on the sidewalk. "Christ, Moira. You've got a memory like an elephant."

"I was your partner for four years, Erik, I know your dressing habits." She glared. "But that doesn't explain why you're back in the city after I expressly told you to stay out!"

"Moira, this really isn't a good time." I glanced over at Jubilee. The glass in her hands was shaking. Following my gaze, Moira's shoulders slumped as she let out a sigh.

"Shit. Does she have anyone she can go to?"

Logan nodded. "Mother's out there somewhere. Last I heard she was living in Texas with her latest boyfriend."

"Put out a trace on her."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mira turned her attention back to me. "Erik, we need to talk."

I cleared my throat. "Can we do it somewhere a bit more private? I only just got into town this morning."

If looks could kill, the expression on Moira's face would have put me in intensive care. "You just live to make my life more difficult don't you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Miss me, McTaggart?"

She snorted. "Don't flatter yourself."

I put a hand on Jubilee's shoulder. "I'm going to leave now. Will you be alright?"

"I guess." Her hands were still trembling.

"Hey." Words spilled from my mouth unbidden, words I had wished someone had said to me years ago, as the ambulance pulled away from my house with the sirens off. "Everything is going to be alright."

The little girl nodded. I stood up, tipping my hat to Betsy. "I wish we were meeting under different circumstances, Miss Braddock."

"Come on, let's go." Mpira grabbed my sleeve and dragged me out of the door. My mind was whirling. I felt like I was being dragged everywhere today- it wasn't a pleasant sensation.

I stumbled over the cracked sidewalk as Moira yanked me outside. Her beat-up Ford was parked in the alley, it's chassis marred with new dents and scratches. It was nice to see that some things hadn't changed in my absence- Moira's driving was notoriously bad, and her vehicle has always born the evidence of her many run ins with the tow truck.

She settled into the driver's seat and glared up at me as I lingered on the curb. "Get in the car, Lensherr."

"What about my coat?"

"Get. In. The car." She repeated, growling. On the steering wheel, her knuckles were slowly turning white.

I got in the car.

Moira revved the engine and peeled out of the alley, leaving the yellow tape of the crime scene in the rearview mirror. As she drove, she seemed to relax a little. One eye firmly on the ever-increasing speedometer, I did not.

"I'll buy you a new one."

"A new what?"

She rolled her eyes. A pedestrian narrowly avoided being run over. "A new coat, Erik. Keep up."

"Oh. Right." I reluctantly took my eyes off the road ahead. "Where are we going?"

"Your apartment." A flurry of disturbed pigeons flew over the car.

"Moira, I haven't paid rent on it since I left. I'm pretty sure it isn't my apartment anymore." I picked at a loose bit of padding spilling out of the threadbare seat. She snorted.

"You're a lucky son of a bitch Lensherr. That Summers kid's been living there, paying the mortgage and everything." She shook her head. "He's a loyal little shit, you know. Royal pain in my ass."

"Alex?" I tried to wrap my head around what Moira was saying Alex Summers was a kid I'd cleared when some bank robbers tries to pull a frame-up job and get him sent to the big house instead of them. He was a good guy, a bit overeager and with a history of juvenile delinquency, but it was hard to picture him living in my place.

"Fancies himself an amateur gumshoe." Moira continued. "Spends most of the day working at a grange downtown, but I've caught him tracking down cheating husbands, missing girlfriends- the whole shebang. He said something about taking over your mantle." A glower passed over her face. "There's a lot of that going around theses days."

I felt a stone drop In my gut. "What do you mean?" She stayed silent. "Moira, what do you mean?" I thought back to what Betsy had said in the apartment. "The Braddock dame said that shooting back in Chinatown was my fault. What was she talking about?"

The car pulled up in front of my old apartment building. I stared out tat the crumbling brickwork as Moira ran a hand through her hair. Looking at her more closely I could see the bags under her eyes, the creases in her forehead, and the hollows of her cheeks. There was tenseness about the way she held herself now that she had never worn while we worked together. She looked completely used up and stressed out; a dramatic change from the Moira I knew.

"There's a war on, Erik." She sighed. "And I'm afraid it's a war you started."


	4. In Which I Return To The Apartment

"How the hell did I start a war?" I stared at Moira incredulously. "Did I invade a country without realizing? Seriously, you can't just say something like that and not explain it."

"God damn it, Erik!" My former partner slammed her fist down onto the dashboard. "You shot the biggest kingpin in the city! Did you seriously think you'd just kill Shaw and we'd all live happily ever after?"

"Of course not!"

"Oh yeah?" Moira scowled at me. "Tell me one thing that you were planning to do once you took out Shaw. One thing."

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My mind was a blank. The look on Moira's face was half frustration and half pity.

"You don't even know. You didn't think past it at all, did you? You were so focused on one thing and one thing only that you didn't stop and consider what kind of an effect it would have on everyone else." She shook her head.

"I had to kill him! Shaw was evil Moira, you saw what he did! You saw what happened to Kitty Pryde!" She winced as I mentioned the girl that I had found naked, gagged and bound in a locked closet at Shaw's apartment. "He had to die. Anything else that came afterwards is collateral damage."

Moira stared at me, aghast. "Was that woman today collateral damage? Am I collateral damage? I've been working 24/7 for three years, Erik, trying to clean up your mess! I haven't slept in a week! I missed my father's funeral! Remember Levine? Worked in Homicide? He had a nervous breakdown last year. He's been in a sanitarium for the past 24 months. Have you ever had to spend Christmas visiting one of your best friends and watching him bang his brains out on a padded cell?" She paused for a second, taking in my silence. "No? Then don't talk to me about collateral fucking damage!"

"I… I didn't know."

"No. You didn't. Because you weren't here." She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Christ, Erik. It's been a long three years."

"Moira, what's happened?"

She shook her head, not meeting my eyes. "It's all wet, Erik. Everything's falling down around our ears. The city's rotten from the inside out." It was getting hot in the car, the windows rolled up tighter than a banker's purse strings. "Let's go inside, I need a drink."

The apartment was dark, the lights in the hallway ceiling flickering and buzzing like dying flies. I let Moira lead the way up even though I itched to sprint ahead, to touch the walls and feel the familiar curling paint under my palms. With every step I took my suitcase grew heavier in my hand, and I held my breath as if not inhaling could ward of the fear of… something, I didn't know. It wasn't like there were any monsters waiting to jump out of the closet at me, the usual skeletons aside.

We reached my old door, the frame around the window splintered in shards of dark wood. There was a thick slice of black electrical tape over the space where my name had been, and "Alex Summers, PI" had been scrawled on the plate glass above it. Moira stretched up on her toes and fumbled at the crevice above the door, falling back to the heels of her sensible shoes with a soft noise of triumph and a dull metal key clasped in her hand. I frowned.

"He shouldn't leave the key there. Too predictable."

"Not your house anymore, Erik." She twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door forward, huffing when it refused to budge. I leaned over her and shoved it open with my shoulder. I shrugged when she looked up, raising her eyebrow at me.

"The door gets sticky when it's hot." The smirk that poked at my mouth couldn't be helped- even if the apartment wasn't mine anymore, it used to be.

The faint strains of music echoed through the walls as we walked in. The closer we moved to the office, it's big glass windows blocked by shuttered venetian blinds, the louder the music got. The apartment itself wasn't very different- the furniture was all mine, albeit re-arranged and re-decorated, and all my book seemed to have been shelved and were gathering a not-inconsiderable layer of dust. I grabbed a photo off the mantle, a shabbily framed black-and-white of three boys: One tall and bespectacled, one no older than twelve, and one with blonde hair and a mischievous grin. Clearly Alex and his brothers. I wondered where the parents of the Summers Clan were.

"I don't think Alex is here." Moira crossed her arms over her chest. "He's probably at the garage. That's good, we can talk without being disturbed."

I gestured to the closed door of the office. "What's with the tunes?" I could still hear muffled crooning from the other room; Cole Porter was comparing the listener to a Waldorf salad, a Berlin ballad, and broccoli. Of those three, I could only think of one being "the top," and it certainly wasn't the vegetables.

Stalking over, Moira squinted in the window. "I can't see any shadows, and no one's come out brandishing a gat, so I'm going to make a wild guess and say that he just left the phonograph on."

"He's going to wear out the record doing that."

Moira threw up her hands. "Jesus, Erik, if it's bothering you so much, just turn it off! I forgot how much of an ickie you can be sometimes."

The door to the office was unlocked and it opened easily. The wood had always been an ill fit for the frame, and even swollen with heat it was still loose. Inside it was even hotter than out on the street, the rusty fan blowing in the corner doing squat but circulating the already stale air. The atmosphere smacked me in the face. All the windows were closed, it stank of booze, and the room wasn't half as neat as the rest of the apartment, the desk covered in stuff. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I was able to pick out the debris littering the space: there were black and white photos spilling out of a big manila envelope on the desk, interspersed with dirty empty glasses. The trail of pictures led down to the windowsill, the table beside the record player, and the chair, before finally coming to an end on the carpeted floor. I squinted at the dark shape there, warily trying to figure out what it was. I briefly considered calling to Moira for backup. Then, just as the song finished and the record started playing the next track ("You'd be so easy to love"-thank you Cole, you're the only one who thinks that), the figure stirred, lifting its head hazily. I blinked.

Charles Xavier lay on the floor, an empty bottle of scotch gripped loosely in one hand, his body curled protectively over the camera around his neck and his hair askew. He looked up at me and rapidly ducked his face back to the carpet, groaning.

"Oh dear, I'm still drunk, aren't I?"


	5. In Which Exposition is Exposited

All the blood drained out of my face. This really wasn't turning out to be my day.

Moira poked her head around the door. "Erik, what's taking so long-" Her sentence broke off as she caught sight of Charles on the floor. "Oh God, Charles, not again."

"Go away. I'm drunk and you're loud and he's a hallucination." Charles pressed two fingers to his temple and glared at us blearily. "You're a filament of my imagination and I can make you leave if I think loud enough."

"I think you mean a figment." I muttered, staring. I could say that Charles hadn't changed at all in the three years I'd been away, but I'd be lying. His hair was shorter, the soft, floppy locks cropped close to his head, and he had a few days worth of stubble spackling his cheeks. It's always awkward running into an old flame (Trust me, I have a very bitter ex-wife), but it's even worse when they stink of scotch. The sleek designer suits he had worn when I first met him had been replaced with a rumpled gray suit that looked an awful lot like rayon and had too-short sleeves. He had on a loose tie in a hideous color that could only be described as dishtowel green and there was a band-aid plastered on his forehead at a rakish angle. His lip was split and puffy like he'd bitten it.

He looked like shit. I still wanted to jump his bones.

"Come on, Charles, sit up. It's not safe to fall asleep when you've been drinking." Moira chided gently, pulling him to his feet. He swayed for a moment before collapsing into the swivel chair. It bounced under his weight and he turned a little green. Leaning his head on Moira's shoulder, he closed his eyes and whimpered miserably.

"I was just coming to bring Alex some pictures." He slurred. "But then he wasn't here, and there was just the bottle open on the desk, and then when I started looking at the pictures- I mean really looking, Moira- they were just dreadful, and r-really I shouldn't be here at all…" He hiccupped and glanced back at me, resignation written on his face. "You're not a hallucination, are you?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, Charles." I wasn't sure whether I was apologizing for not being a construct of his drunken stupor or for leaving him in the first place. I hoped he'd interpret it as applying to both; I hate apologies.

"Oh, bother." He looked very put out. I'd never heard him drunk before, but it seemed to have made his cultured Oxford accent stronger, if slightly more incomprehensible. The green pallor of his face seemed to darken suddenly, and he stood up, wobbling. "Excuse me, I have to go be violently ill."

He stumbled to the bathroom on bowlegs, slamming the door behind him. Moira sighed as the pitiful sounds of retching projected through the thin walls.

I turned to her, slumping into the chair Charles had occupied a moment earlier. "Sorry, I think I've accidentally landed on a different planet. Do you have directions back to Earth?"

"I didn't think he'd be here. He doesn't usually get up before three in the afternoon these days." The desk creaked as she leaned against it heavily. "Look, he's going to be out of for at least five minutes more. We should talk now; it seems like we keep getting interrupted."

"How long has he been like that?" The Charles currently throwing up in the bathroom was almost nothing like the well-groomed, upper class Charles I had memories of. Was this even the same guy I knew? He certainly didn't look like the heir to the prestigious Xavier shipping company; It was like an evil twin had replaced him. An evil twin with a drinking problem.

"Erik. We can talk about him in a minute. Now just listen to me. Okay?" Moira tapped her nails on one of the empty glasses on the desk. "You're probably confused."

"Yes, that would be an understatement."

She glared at me and I shut my trap. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said there was a war on, Erik. Shaw had a stranglehold on the city, controlled all the drugs, extortion, blackmail, kidnapping, everything. Had a backhander in every policeman's pocket. Except ours, of course, but you already know that.

"Anyway, when you killed him, suddenly that stranglehold loosened. For a few months crime was down, everything was going great. We thought we'd skipped a bullet." She laughed bitterly. "Yeah, no such luck. The first February after you'd left, things started getting bad again. There would be a few more dead junkies than usual in the bad parts of town, a few more people going missing, a few more cops with lifestyles outside of their price range. We started getting suspicious. Detective Munoz was looking into it when he disappeared."

"Armando disappeared?" Armando Munoz was one of the guys on the team Moira and I had put together when we were trying to take down Shaw. He was the first colored guy in the station, and they'd been more than happy to lend him to us- The Diversity Squad, the beat cops called us. A Yid, a dame, a Negro, and a Canadian (Logan). He'd gotten promoted when I got kicked off the force- he'd taken my place as Moira's partner, adapting to his new role more quickly than I thought was possible. I was still sore about that, but I liked the cat.

Moira nodded. "We thought we'd lost him, but he turned up a week later, dropped off on the steps of the station by a black car, untraceable plates. He was beat up pretty badly, but he was able to get us a lot more information. It was damn brave of him.

"Armando said he'd been snatched on his way home one night, bag over the head and everything. Apparently he got brought to a warehouse somewhere, ended up meeting with some little shit calling himself Shinobi. Shinobi Shaw."

If I had been drinking water, it would have snorted out my nose. "What?"

"That's what we said. Armando says the guy's claiming to be Shaw's son, product of a sordid night between the big man himself and a Jap prostitute. One of Frost's, I'm going to guess." Emma Frost owned the highest-class brothel in town. She had an on-and-off relationship with Shaw, but when it was off, he frequented the girls in her employ. God only knows how he managed to sweet talk her into letting him do that. "Anyway, the kid- he can't be more than twenty-five, Mando says- the kid says that this city is his birthright. He's claiming that it's his duty to pick up where Shaw left off when you filled him with lead."

"Okay." I spread my hands. "I don't see the problem. It's just one upstart crank with a superiority complex. Shouldn't be too hard to handle."

Moira shook her head. "It wouldn't be. Except he's not the only person trying to fill the void Sebastian left behind. This Shinobi guy- he kept ranting about someone called Selene. Said she was some sort of… competition, I guess. Anyway, soon after that the shootings started. Not just random crazies, either. These were cold calculated hits. They are, sorry." She corrected herself. "Every couple weeks there'd be a drive-by in Chinatown, a bunch of gangsters gunned down. We've been able to connect them to Shaw Jr. A few days later we'll find a bunch of guys dead in a cellar or an alley. And they're not random guys, they're mercenaries, bookies, people with a connection the underground. We're guessing they're working for this Selene broad, whoever she is."

The clock ticked loudly in the background, the record having run its course and ended a few minutes earlier. The static hiss of the needle spinning endless circles in the grooves of Cole Porter filled the room, white noise as I took in everything Moira had said. "So that shooting today? That was part of this?"

"Without a doubt." Moira said grimly. "The Wong cat's a local doctor, treats most of the people in that part of Chinatown. We had some evidence that he'd been fixing up guys in Shinobi Shaw's gang, but we hadn't wanted to pull him in for questioning until we had really concrete proof." She sighed. "They were probably blackmailing him into it, anyway. He seemed like a good guy by all accounts. I just wish we'd gotten there sooner." A shake of the head. "And that poor old lady…"

I cringed, remembering the look on Jubilee's face back in Betsy's apartment. A sharp lance of guilt stabbed through my chest. This was my fault. Everything had fallen apart, and it was all my fault.

"Oh please, don't look like that." I twisted my head to see Charles standing in the doorway. Well, more like leaning on the doorway, really. He pointed at my face. "Like that. Your mouth's all twisty and your eyes are squinting. That's the face of self-pity, my friend, and I know it very well." He hiccupped softly, putting a hand to his chest with a wince. "Ow. Anyway, stop it. Your face'll stick like that. And then the world will be without your lovely scowl." He shambled over and jerked his thumb up. "Out. My chair."

He settled into the seat as I vacated it, humming softly. Moira and I exchanged a glance and he glared up at us. "Stop talking about me."

"We didn't say anything."

"Yeah, but-" He waggled his fingers by his head, "You were thinking. Loudly, I'm sure. Do either of you know where Alex keeps his extra booze?"

Moira snorted. "I doubt he can afford extra booze. He's going to kill you for finishing up that bottle, he was saving it for a special occasion."

"How do you know?" Charles retorted petulantly, attempting to swing his feet up onto the desk but missing by a mile. His heel knocked over a paperweight that had been a thirtieth birthday present from my great aunt.

"Because he told me. People do that sometimes, Charles, remember? Talking? It's what humans do occasionally, with their friends." She stressed the last word, pulling a packet of cigarettes from inside her coat. "Here, have one of these, it'll help you sober up."

Fishing around in his pockets, he produced a crumpled, half-smoked snipe from his creased trousers. "I don't need your charity, Moira, I've got all I need, right here." He slapped his thigh loudly and then cried out in pain, looking at his hand in offended shock. "What was that for?"

It was getting unbearable in the office. I turned away from Charles, cracking open a window as Moira hauled him to his feet. It was hard to see him like this; it's hard to see anyone who's felt the need to get drunk alone. Not for the first time, I wished he'd taken up my offer to come with me when I left the city.

"You're embarrassing yourself, Charles." Moira muttered, slinging his arm around her shoulders. "Come on, I'll take you back to your place."

The drunken heir shook his head violently, pulling away from her. "No. I've got to stay here. Got to deliver the pictures to Alex. I promised-" He clung to Moira's lapels, his warm blue eyes huge and dismayed. He looked like he might cry. "Please, Moira, I promised."

She swore and glanced over at me helplessly. "Erik, I can't stay here. I've got to get back to the station, start an investigation into the shooting. Can you…" She trailed off, scrubbing a weary hand over her face. "God, I know it's a lot to ask right now, but can you stay here and keep an eye on him? Just until Alex gets home, then you can find a hotel."

I nodded. It wasn't like I had much of a choice- nowhere to go, no one to go home to. "Yes, of course."

The door rattled, Charles bumping into it as Moira led him into the next room. She sat him down on the shabby burgundy couch, stroking a loose strand of hair off his forehead tenderly. "Try to get some rest, all right? Sleep this off." Charles buried his face in her shoulder, murmuring something tearfully. Moira patted the back of his head. "No, Charles, nobody's going to be angry with you." Feeling like I was intruding on something personal I looked away, but the first stirrings of jealousy were nagging at the back of my mind. _Stupid_, I thought to myself. _You have no claim on anyone, least of all him._

Moira crossed the room as Charles lay down, his head lowering tentatively onto a throw pillow. Her eyes met mine, and she silently mouthed, "Thank you". Once we were close enough to the door and far enough away from Charles, she sighed. "He should pass right out and stay that way for a few hours. That's what he usually does when he's been drinking like this, anyway. Just make sure he stays on his side, I don't want my oldest friend to choke on his own vomit."

I cringed at the thought. "I'll make sure."

"Peachy keen. Thanks again."

Guilt reared its ugly head once more. "It's the least I could do. Moira, I-" The words tasted sour in my mouth. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize."

Her smile was thin and haggard but genuine. "I know, Erik. I know." She reached out suddenly and pulled me into a lightning-fast hug before moving back, blushing embarrassedly. "I did miss you."

I grinned. "I knew it." We knew each other well enough that the unspoken _I missed you, too_ didn't have to be said. She punched my shoulder lightly.

"Tell anyone I hugged you and you're a dead man, Lensherr."

"Your secret is safe with me."

I watched her descend down the stairs, waiting until her form was out of sight to close the door. Familiar shadows played beyond the frosted glass window, and I turned back to the living room. Charles was dead asleep on the couch, snoring quietly. The camera he had been wearing the whole time was still looped around his neck, and when I tried to maneuver it off him he frowned angrily in his sleep and tugged it back, wrapping it in his arms like a teddy bear. I shrugged and sat down in the armchair across from him, grabbing a worn issue of Popular Mechanics off the side table (Not mine, must have been Alex's) and thumbing through it distractedly. My real focus was on Charles, no matter how much I tried to shift my attention elsewhere.

He whimpered in his sleep and clutched the camera closer. The copy of Popular Mechanics dropped to the floor as I leaned forward, alert and anxious.

It was going to be a long afternoon.


	6. In Which Charles Is An Unhappy Drunk

The sun had started to set, casting long shadows into the orange tinted light, and my stomach was rumbling loudly. Charles was still out cold, despite the fact that not one but three trains had thundered their way past the window in the space of a few hours. I had nearly forgotten about the freight line that ran past the apartment, necessitating a pillow clamped firmly over one's head at night to block the noise, and I almost jumped out of my skin when the photos on the end table started quivering, the chairs and shelves rattling as the dingy silver bullet tore its way by. Somehow Charles had slept through the racket and was continuing to murmur and sigh on the couch, the springs underneath him creaking ominously as he shifted, dreaming. I had long since abandoned my magazine in favor of pacing anxiously and monitoring Charles' breathing. He had buried his face in the cushions, and I crossed the room to stare out the window as the grey city was doused in gold.

I was having a hard time figuring out how to refer to Charles. Was he my friend? I wasn't sure, we had only spent two days together before it all went to Hell. Was he a former employer? While it was true that Charles had hired me in the first place to find his missing sister, the term seemed too cold, too professional. An ex-lover, maybe? We _had_ spent the night together. My last act in the city before my self-imposed exile had been to kiss him a final time. Glancing back at his sleeping form my gaze lingered on his lips, still as red as if they had been painted on like a China doll. But then again, I thought, was two days enough time to really become anything to this man? He probably hardly remembered my name. In his mind I was probably just the detective friend of Moira's, good for one job and one night and then forgotten forever. He was a rich boy, after all, comfortably situated in between a healthy trust fund and all the dames that high society could offer.

Except he didn't exactly look like a rich boy now. The upper-class sheen that had coated him back when we met was missing, replaced by a shabby suit and five o'clock shadow. There had been rough edges poking out from under the appearance of a gentleman even at our first introduction, but it looked now like he had been doused in a bucket of paint thinner, sloughing away the layers of gloss that years of dinner parties and a private school education had shellacked onto him.

I wondered, not for the first time, why I cared. It wasn't like we knew each other, not really. I didn't know anything about his hobbies, his fears, what he loved or hated. His middle name was a mystery. I had never met his parents. We didn't know each other's birthdays. All I knew about Charles was that he was the handsomest man I'd ever met, my skin tingled when he touched me, and he'd been willing to shoot a man in the kneecap for me less than forty-eight hours after we'd been introduced.

That, and that he was waking up.

A low groan emanated from the sofa. Turning my back on the window I grabbed a relatively clean glass from the chipped kitchen counter and turned on the tap, filling it halfway with sputtering lukewarm water. I settled into the armchair, watching as Charles rolled over and groaned again, more loudly, covering his face with one hand.

"How're you feeling?" I said softly. He squinted at me from behind his fingers.

"It tastes like something died in my mouth."

"Only your dignity, don't worry."

He snorted, then winced as he sat up slowly and laboriously. "Yes. Well. I'm lucky that wasn't my first impression, eh?" He reached out and took the water from me, his short, blunt fingernails scraping against my knuckles. He downed it in one gulp and wiped the slippery condensation from the glass across his forehead with a sigh. "Sorry about that. I'm not having my best day."

"I can sympathize." My eyes followed the journey of his damp fingers to his face. The trail of water shined on his brow in the fading light, glinting from under the shadows. I flicked on the table lamp.

"So." Charles shifted his weight, not quite meeting my eyes as he straightened his hideous tie. "This is unexpected."

"That's what Moira said."

He shrugged, standing up. "Well, you know her. She's easily surprised. D'you know, one time when we were kids I jumped out at her from behind a corner, nearly scared her to death. As it was she ended up with quite a nasty scrape on her knee." The tap squeaked as he twisted it, re-filling his glass. "I'll be back in a moment, I just have to raid Alex's medicine cabinet and figure out where he's hiding the aspirin this week."

I turned in my chair, raising an eyebrow at Charles as he retreated into the bathroom. The door stayed open. "He hides it?"

"Not really, he's just not very organized. He might as well." There was a clatter and a muffled curse. A hairbrush rolled across the floor. "Ah, here, found it." There was a moment of silence, the sound of running water, and then another few minutes without noise. Charles emerged from the bathroom with the glass empty and his suit buttoned correctly, looking considerably fresher than he had upon waking. "That's a bit better. Now," He crossed his arms over his chest, "Why are you here?"

"I could ask you the same question. You're not friends with Alex."

"Ah." He held up a finger. "I _wasn't_ friends with Alex when we met. You introduced us, remember? We're friends _now_." Charles sniffed. "I'd taken a few pictures for him, following around a woman who's been having an affair with her horse riding instructor. I've been working as a photographer lately, taking some snaps here and there for the cheaper papers, things like that. Alex doesn't pay much, but he always pays on time and he's a friend." He caught my confused look. "I have to make a living somehow."

"What, did the family fortune run dry?"

The laugh that tore itself from his lips was ugly and rough. "Hardly. No, I had a little fight with step-daddy. I'm afraid I'm no longer welcome at the Xavier Estate." His blue eyes softened a little and his voice dropped in volume. "Alex and Moira have been very kind. I've been sleeping on sofas quite a bit recently."

"Good to know I bring people together."

Charles picked at a loose string on his sleeve. "Yes, well, only after you've torn them apart first."

I cringed. The banter well had finally run dry, like I had known it would eventually. Now came the unpleasantness. "I never meant to hurt anyone."

Charles snorted. "Oh yes, except Shaw of course."

I rolled my eyes. "Well, obviously. But you knew that. There were no other options, Charles, he had to pay for what he'd done."

"I understand that." His voice had gotten higher pitched, his eyes flashing angrily as he hissed at me. "I understand that he was a monster, I understand that you did what you had to do but that doesn't excuse the fact that you murdered a man and then ran away without another thought!"

The words stung like a handful of nettles and I straightened my shoulders defensively, resentment rearing its fanged head. "I didn't run away."

"You just _left_, Erik!"

"I wanted you to come with me, Charles. I asked you, but you said no!"

"Of course I said no!" He fumed. "My sister had just spent a week being held captive by a psychotic sadist and I had just seen you shoot a man in cold blood! There were still bits of brain on your suit! Did you really expect me to come with you after all that had happened? I had duties, Erik; duties to Raven, to my family, to the company. I couldn't run off with you and leave that behind!"

"You know I couldn't have stayed in the city. I'd have been put in handcuffs the minute the police arrived!"

"Then you should have let them handcuff you! You should have turned yourself in, Erik! You should have taken responsibility for your actions instead of running away and leaving everyone behind!" He pointed to the office, to the photo of Alex and his brothers. "There are people here who would do anything for you, Erik. People who _have _done anything. For Christ's sake, I'm one of them! I would have waited for you in jail, Erik, I would have stayed by your side for as long as you wanted me!" He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "And who are you? You're no one! You're just a guy I knew for forty-eight hours three years ago. I don't know you, you aren't important. I haven't spent my life with you; I haven't even spent a week with you! But for some reason every night for the past three years I've spent lying in my bed, tossing and turning and dreaming about you." As he ranted he had been moving steadily closer, until our faces were only inches away. Looking down at him I could still smell the alcohol on his breath, see the sweat trickling down the back of his collar. He raised his hand jerkily but I caught it in mid-poke, my fingers wrapped around his wrist and his fingertip almost touching my chest. We stood there for a second in silence, his shoulders heaving as he panted, winded from his tirade. He stared up at me, his lips parted and glossy.

"You're going to be the death of me." I croaked, my voice too loud in the stagnant air of the apartment. Charles laughed darkly.

"You've been killing me piece by piece for three years."

His lips tasted the same as I remembered.

* * *

><p>Charles did up the buttons of his shirt, his nauseatingly green tie hanging loose off the arm of the couch as I picked the pillows up from the floor and ran a hand through my hair, trying fruitlessly to neaten it. We studiously avoided each other's eyes.<p>

When Charles cleared his throat I nearly jumped out of my skin, I was so busy being engrossed in anything but the other man in the room. I glanced up, caught sight of his kiss-swollen mouth, and ducked my head back down so fast I almost got whiplash.

"That was a mistake." Charles grabbed his tie like it was a snake, knotting it around his neck and tugging tightly. "It won't happen again."

"Right."

"I'm probably still a bit drunk."

"Right."

He sighed. "You confuse the Hell out of me."

"The feeling is mutual." I smiled fleetingly, despite my conflicting feelings. Charles didn't return the gesture.

"Look, I don't think we should be here alone together, but I have to stay until Alex gets back from work to give him these photos, and I'm sure you're not going anywhere, so I'm just going to go into the office and tidy up the mess I made earlier." The vague flip of the hand Charles used to gesture to the room he had trashed while drunk was forced-casual, too affected to be truth. While the disarray certainly needed cleaning, it was obvious that he just wanted to get away from me as much as possible. I didn't blame him; I felt much the same way myself. Left to our own devices, we had already proved that the temptation was too heady to avoid. I nodded.

Charles lifted his camera up from the side table, carefully pulling it over his head. "Well. All right, then. I'll be inside." He crossed the room, his gaze trained on his target. His feet shuffled on the maroon carpet and he glanced back when he was firmly inside the office, his hand on the door. "Don't take this personally, Erik, but it's very difficult for me to be around you right now."

"That seems awfully personal to me."

"Yes, I suppose it does." His face twisted a little, mirth liquor mixed with a dash of sardonic lime. "How silly of me."

And then he slammed the door.

I could see his shadow moving behind the shuttered blinds from my perch on the sofa, bending and straightening and lifting, collecting the scattered photographs from the floor. The manila envelope was outlined by the setting sun as he shoved pictures into it roughly. He cursed and dropped it back to the desk, moving out of sight for a moment. When he re-appeared in my line of vision, I could hear the faint strains of The Andrews Sisters coming from the record player, singing in oblivion.

I buried my head in my hands and wished that the day would end soon.


	7. In Which I Finally Get To Eat Something

About half an hour after Charles retreated to the office the front door pushed open hesitantly and Alex Summers poked his blonde head in nervously, scoping out the room. I glanced up from my book and waved. Alex gaped.

"I- you- what?"

"Hi Alex. You know, you really shouldn't keep the key above the door: it's too obvious a hiding place."

A wide grin broke out on the young man's face and he surged towards me, clapping a hand on my back excitedly. "Erik! You're back!"

Even though his enthusiasm made me a little uncomfortable, it would have been hard for me to pretend that I wasn't glad to finally find someone happy to see me. I smiled back. "That's the best reaction I've had all day."

"Yeah, well." Alex scratched his head. "I missed you, man. We were starting to think you'd never come back."

"Most people have been saying that was what they hoped would happen."

Alex screwed up his face in disbelief. "What? Who said that? They were probably lying."

"Please, Alex, lying is a sin." Charles drawled. He had somehow managed to creep out of the office without making a sound and was leaning on the wall nonchalantly. "I took the last of your aspirin, by the way."

Alex's smile flagged a little. "Were you drunk again?"

Holding his thumb and index finger a few centimeters apart, Charles squinted at us. "Teensey bit. I'm better now, though." He handed Alex the envelope. "I got those photos you wanted. Your client's wife can do things with that tongue of hers that I've never even heard of."

"Thanks, man." Alex took the pictures gratefully, flipping through them in a flurry of black and white. His eyes widened a little. "Damn, you weren't kidding. The husband's not gonna like this." The envelope ended up on the kitchen counter as Alex sat down on the sofa where Charles and I had been less than an hour ago. I coughed awkwardly. "So, Erik, why are you back?"

"I…" I had managed to avoid the question for most of the day. The answer certainly wasn't going to make me look any better in Charles' and Moira's eyes- they already thought I was a thoughtless fool, a reputation I was doing nothing to disprove. "I don't really know. I missed the city, I guess."

"Just the city?" Charles scoffed. "Not the people in it?"

_And for my next trick I will insert my foot into my mouth. _I cursed my poor choice of words. "One implies the other, Charles, don't change around my meaning."

"Oh. That's cool." Alex stood up abruptly, looking worried. "Wait, so, do you want the apartment back? Because I can totally go and stay with friends or something if you want to move in again."

I shook my head. "No, of course not! It's pretty much your place now, Alex, I'm not going to make you leave. I'll get a hotel room; I'm sure I can find a new apartment once things die down a little."

The blonde's shoulders slumped in relief. "Great. Thanks." He rubbed his hair sheepishly, his grin lopsided. "Truthfully, this is the nicest place I've ever lived in."

I glanced around the small apartment skeptically. Alex must have lived in some pretty shitty places for this to look like a dream home.

"Do you guys want anything to eat? I think I've got some leftovers in the fridge."

"I don't want to impose." I said, even though there was a sharp hunger pain starting in my stomach. "I should probably meet up with Moira, she offered to find me somewhere to stay."

"Do you mind if I take you up on your offer?" Charles turned to Alex. "I'm afraid I'm out of cash."

"Yeah, of course." Alex pulled a worn leather wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. "Here, I have to pay you for those photos."

Charles took the crumpled dollar bills gratefully, folding them into his jacket. "You're a saint."

The floorboards creaked as I inched towards the door. "I'll see you guys later, then."

"Okay. Come over some time, right? We've gotta catch up; I've got a lot to tell you." Alex said excitedly. I managed a smile.

"I'll call you."

"That's what they all say." Charles called from the kitchen as I slunk out onto the landing. The adrenaline I had been running on since the afternoon had finally run out and I leaned against the railing heavily as I made my way downstairs. Hunger pains curled low in my belly, growling and clawing like a wild animal. It was with great relief that I saw Moira's car pull up to the curb as I left the apartment, her headlights bright in the burgeoning darkness of evening. I pulled open her passenger's side door and slid in. She tossed me a white paper package; as I unwrapped it, it revealed a pastrami sandwich on rye bread. I tore into it hungrily.

"You have impeccable timing." I sighed. She raised an eyebrow.

"Everything all right? Is Charles okay?"

I waved away her concern. "He's fine. He's got an acid tongue on him, though."

She nodded as she nudged the car into gear. "He's always had a way with words."

The sulfur yellow of the street lamps passed over us as they flickered on, their glow flashing through the windows as we drove through pools of light in the black street. "What happened? He mentioned something about a fight with his stepfather…?"

"Ugh, yeah." Moira winced. "Charles' dad died when he was a little kid. The guy his mom re-married, Kurt Marko, is a real creep. I remember when we were in high school Charles used to show up with bruises nearly every day."

My anger flared hot. "He beat him?" What kind of a monster could do that to someone like Charles? Sure, he could be a smartass, but he didn't deserve anything like that. Moira looked disgusted by the memory.

"It was pretty bad. Charles never told anyone, of course, and I'm pretty sure Kurt hasn't hit him since he graduated from Oxford a few years ago and came back here. But then the whole thing happened with Raven, and with Shaw…" Moira shook her head. "Raven is adopted, you probably didn't know that. They've tried to keep it quiet. Kurt never liked her, thought she was trash, but Charles had always been there to keep her safe. You saw how he got at the church."

I remembered the cold glare on Charles' face as he shot Sebastian Shaw in the leg, his calm fury and determination as we drove to rescue his sister. I tried to imagine Charles as a child, those slim arms and legs twig-thin and his huge blue eyes hardened protectively in the looming shadow of his stepfather, Raven hidden behind him. Unbidden, an image came to my mind of a young Charles with a black eye, sitting quietly in class with his face angled down to hide the bruise. I winced at the sting of sympathy that pricked at the backs of my eyeballs.

"He really cares about her."

"He would do anything for her. She's his sister." Moira swerved around a corner, narrowly avoiding a fire hydrant. "Charles was pretty torn up when you left, Erik. I think just the shock of the past few days, plus the fact that he'd pretty much been an accomplice to murder, and then you just disappearing- he wasn't in a good place. Kurt tried to use that against him, get him kicked off the board of the company."

I raised my eyebrows. "Can he even do that? I mean, it's the _Xavier_ Shipping Company, not the Marko Shipping Company. Surely there's some sort of rule against kicking out the cat who owns the place?"

"Normally there would be," The car jolted as Moira raced over a speed bump, the leather seats squeaking in protest, "But unfortunately Charles' mother is a hopeless drunk, and she's technically the one who owns the company. All Kurt had to do was write up a statement saying that she thought Charles was unfit to run his father's business and pry the bottle of gin out of her hand long enough to replace it with a pen." She snorted. "I would guess her signature was very sloppy."

"Shit."

Moira frowned grimly, concentrating on the road. "It was pretty bad. When Charles found out what Kurt had done, he got really drunk and turned up at Kurt's office. He made a scene in the lobby- I'm not going to gloss things over, it was a total shitshow- and Kurt had to get security to drag Charles out. He's completely disowned him, kicked him out of the house, got a restraining order to keep him away, froze his bank account. The last I heard, he'd replaced Charles' seat on the board with his thug son, Cain. I don't think Charles has seen anyone in his family since. And I'm pretty sure the only reason Kurt didn't do the same to Raven was because she had become so high-profile after the kidnapping."

I nodded. "The papers would have crucified him if he so much as yelled at her. How is Raven, anyway?"

"I have no idea. We were never close; it was always Charles I was friends with when we were at school. She's a good five years younger than him."

We turned down a dark side street, the car's engine purring as Moira eased off the gas and crawled along the road. "Why would anyone hate Charles that much?" I asked.

"I'm not the person to ask, Erik. Seriously." She glanced out her window and pressed her foot down on the brake. "We're here. I called and made you a reservation while I was at the office."

I squinted at the sign that swayed above the door of the building, splintered fading blue paint with gold letters, proclaiming it to be The Genosha Arms Hotel. It looked respectable enough, if a bit shabby. I collected my suitcase from the back seat and got out, crossing around to the driver's side of the car. Moira rolled down her window.

"Thank you, Moira. I really appreciate it."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Don't get all mushy on me, Lensherr. Oh, and speaking of that, you're booked under an alias. I still have to dig your arrest warrant out of the filing cabinet at the office and arrange for it to have a convenient accident with a paper shredder."

I bared my teeth in a grin. I had been told on more than one occasion that my toothy white smile made me look like a shark, and it was a good weapon of intimidation, but Moira had known me for long enough to know that when I turned it on her I genuinely meant it to be friendly. "That's swell. What's my name tonight?"

"Michael Xavier." She rolled her eyes at my incredulous expression. "Don't give me that look, it's the first name that popped into my head. If anyone says anything about Charles, you can always say you're his cousin. Or his wife, I don't know, it's your choice."

I tried to look exasperated, but it was difficult when Moira's sarcastic statement had sent my imagination into overdrive. Still fresh memories of the ill-advised, hastily aborted make-out session that Charles and I had shared back at the apartment weren't helping things, either. I coughed.

"You're blushing, Erik."

"Shut up."

"Whatever you say." She said, smirking. "I'm going home. I'll call you in the morning."

"Alright." I started towards the door of the hotel but paused halfway, turning around. "Thanks again, Moira."

The streetlight illuminated her face from above as she leaned out the window. "Stop saying that, it's wigging me out. I think this is the most times I ever heard you say 'thank you' in the nine years we've known each other." The car reversed down the street, pulling out with a squeal of rubber on asphalt. I watched as it disappeared back onto the main road, and then went to go inside.

The lobby of The Genosha Arms was brown. There was really no other way to describe it. The wallpaper was beige and peeling, the ceiling painted the same shade but spotted here and there with darker spots of damp. The carpet was the color of gutter mud, and I had the sneaking suspicion that it had been chosen specially because it could hide the evidence that proved that it's cleaning had been neglected for long periods of time. The light fixtures were all covered in dark orange lampshades, casting the room in sepia tones. Even the receptionist was brown, her mousey hair done up in a frizzy bun and her hunched shoulders shrouded in a dun-colored shawl as she glanced up at me from the book she was reading. She could only have been in her thirties or forties at the latest, but the way she tapped her fingernails on the arm of her chair impatiently I found myself eerily reminded of my grandmother. She looked bored as I approached the front desk and eyed my rumpled clothes disapprovingly.

"I have a reservation under the name Xavier, Michael Xavier." I stood there awkwardly as she eyeballed me, her gaze sweeping me from head to toe. She frowned, but grabbed a key from the board behind her.

"You're in room twenty." She said in a heavy Eastern European accent, handing me the key.

I took it. "Thanks."

"Whatever." She turned back to the novel in her lap. I slunk off to the stairwell, wondering why I felt chastised. The power to make any man feel like a ten year old who just got caught breaking a window must be some sort of magical ability that only maternal European women have.

Room twenty was the first door on the second floor of the building, and I managed to unlock it with minimal grief from the slightly ill fitting key. I stumbled into the room, dropping my bag on the floor and managing to toe off my shoes before dropping to the bed. The quilt underneath me, though brown and threadbare, smelled like fresh laundry and rubbed soft against my cheek. I closed my eyes, the pastrami sandwich heavy and satisfying in my stomach and my head filled with memory-dreams of Charles' kisses, and drifted off to sleep.


	8. In Which The Plot Thickens

I was flying. The sky was a stormy gray, the clouds around me dark and heavy with condensation. I could smell the ozone in the air and feel it rush past my tongue, cool and bitter in my throat as wind whipped back my hair. It was pretty obvious that I was dreaming- the last I checked, I couldn't fly.

I remembered reading somewhere that dreams about flying were actually dreams about sex. Not that I believed that entirely. When I dream about sex, it tends to be about sex. When I dream about flying, it's about flying. I have a very straightforward mind. And anyway, if this dream had anything to do with my love life, it was definitely troubling: A squadron of bomber jets had begun tailing me through the clouds. A missile whooshed past my face and I swerved out of the way to avoid it, feeling dread pool in my stomach as it whistled away. The next missile the jet shot hit me, clipping my arm and sending me into a tailspin. The grey spires of the city below rushed up to meet me as I plummeted to the ground.

I was yanked out of sleep by a sudden scratching noise outside my door. I'm a light sleeper, and for a moment I thought I might have imagined it, something carried over from my dream. Even still, it took me a second to blink the grogginess from my eyes, and by the time I had fully regained consciousness the noise had stopped and my door had been pushed open a crack. I squinted through the sliver of light and caught sight of a single blue eye. I could feel a sigh in my throat just itching to be let out.

"You know, Charles, you could have just knocked."

"Yes, but where's the challenge in that?" The ex-heir let himself into my room, closing the door with a click. He was wearing the same suit as yesterday, wrinkled and twisted to one side so that the fabric stretched taut over his slim chest, clinging to his ribs like plastic wrap. The camera was still slung around his neck, but he was wearing a black fedora that looked a bit rough at the edges (Literally, the edges were fraying). He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, staring at me in bed. "We need to talk."

I pulled the sheets a bit higher around my naked waist self-consciously before realizing that I had fallen asleep fully clothed and letting them fall back down. "I thought we already did."

He sighed. "No, Erik, I yelled at you and then we necked like teenagers on our friend's couch. That doesn't count as talking." He pulled off the fedora, worrying the brim in his hands, and it dawned on my why the thing looked so worn. "Anyway, this is about something else."

An eerie sense of déjà vu settled over me. "You want to hire me for a case." It wasn't a question.

"I'm not hiring you for anything. You're going to do this because you owe me, and because it's the right thing to do." He leveled his gaze at me. "And because I need your help and I have no one else to go to."

"This seems awfully familiar."

"It's about Raven."

"And now it's even more familiar. Are you sure we haven't traveled back in time three years?"

Charles snorted. "Like I would be caught dead wearing duds like these back then. Do keep up, Erik."

I shook my head. "Fine. What kind of trouble has your sister gotten herself into this time?"

"She…" All the mirth that had flickered in Charles' eyes while we bantered seemed to drop out of them. I almost thought I would see it land on the floor, a shimmering ball of blue, but that would be too weird and prove solidly that I was still dreaming. Not that I was ruling that out- the last few days had been surreal, to say the least. "She's taken up with another man I don't approve of, I'm afraid." His lips quirked in a weak smile. "I suppose that happens quite often, doesn't it?"

"It seems to be a running theme, yes."

"Her taste in men is a little questionable, I'll admit." I bit my tongue to stop a cutting remark from coming out. Saying that Raven Xavier's taste in men was a little questionable was like saying that the Titanic had a spot of bother with an iceberg. "And usually I try to keep her protected, but I've clearly proved that I'm not very good at that. Since I broke with my stepfather I haven't seen her much. I'm not allowed on the grounds, and we had a fight before I got kicked out. This is the first I've heard from her in a year."

"So how did she manage to have a relationship with someone?" I asked. "How could she have met with him without Marko figuring it out?"

"Like I bloody know." Charles snapped. "For all she's told me he could have been teleporting into her room every night. She's not very forthcoming with details."

"So you've talked to her."

He frowned. "Not exactly. Last night one of the maids from the estate turned up at Alex's. I have no idea how she knew I'd be there; I suppose she asked around. She gave me a note from Raven begging me for help. She said-" He broke off, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I don't even want to think about it. Here, I've got the note, you can read it."

He pulled a crisp white envelope out of his jacket and walked over, handing it to me. He sat down on the bed and I caught a sudden flash of memories: bandages, fingers pressing to a bruise, Charles' mouth on mine. I blinked, trying to dispel the distracting thoughts as I read the note.

My eyes widened as I scanned the words. "You're kidding."

Charles looked like he was on the verge of tears. "Unfortunately not."

"She was sleeping with the Russian."

"His name's Azazel." Charles supplied. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, I can read and I also have long term memory, thank you." I re-read the first few sentences, remembering the black-haired Russian henchman under Shaw's employ. He had given Charles and I a decent number of bruises and contusions, and he had been helping Shaw keep Raven hostage in his apartment. Now in the letter she was saying that she loved him. My mind was whirling, and it only got worse the more I read. "He's missing." I rolled my eyes. "Of course he is."

Charles buried his head in his hands despairingly. "I'm the worst brother ever."

I patted him awkwardly on the back. "No you're not. You're just… not the best." He glared up at me through his fingers. "At least you tried. It's the thought that counts."

"I'm going to punch you."

"Please don't. Anyway, what do you want me to do?"

Charles shook his head. "I don't know. But she's asking me to find Azazel."

"But he's a mook!" I protested. "Why would she want him back?"

"Why are you asking me? I'm not a mind reader!" Charles bit out. "All I know is that she says she loves him. And she's my little sister, Erik. I just want her to have a life where she's happy."

_So not a life like yours then_ was on the tip of my tongue. Thankfully I have iron self control. "Do you have any idea where he could be?"

"No."

I sighed. "I'm going to have to meet with her, then. That's the only way I can find out where he might have disappeared to. Can you figure out a way for us to get her out of the house?"

He nodded. "I'll try."

We stared at each other. The silence stretched on for a long, awkward moment before I cleared my throat, and Charles jumped a little. "So are you staying?"

"No, of course not." He stood up briskly, straightening his tie. "I'll be on my way, I've got to go… arrange things, I suppose. Track down that maid and see if she can get a message to Raven. And then I have to develop some photos at the office. And… other things." He finished lamely. "I'm really quite busy, you know. It turns out having to work for a living is a tad different than the lifestyle I'm used to."

I gave Charles the once-over. The bags beneath his eyes were dark and heavy, and his wrists where they poked out from his too-short sleeves were thin and bony (more so than usual, at least). I wondered how long it had been since he had eaten a decent meal.

"Do you want to go get breakfast with me?" I blurted out. He wrinkled his nose, his forehead creasing like I had offended him.

"I just told you I was busy."

"And I have nothing else to do today." It was a lie, but that didn't matter. "That café down the road is still open, right?"

"Asteroid M?" Charles raised an eyebrow. "Yes, it's still there. I can't be the only person who thinks that's a weird name for a café."

"Let me buy you something to eat."

Charles screwed the fedora back onto his head, glaring down at the floor. "I don't need your charity."

"Yeah, but I'm hungry, and you're here, so what's the problem?" I stood up from the bed, brushing kinks out of my suit. "I won't bite."

He snorted, but the ghost of a smile started to appear on his face. "I happen to know for a fact that you do. Don't lie." He ran a finger around the shutter speed toggle of his camera. "I'll wait for you in the hall."

"Wait for what? Here, I'm up." I started towards the door, but the sight of Charles with his arms crossed over his chest blocked my path.

"No. You're getting changed. You have a suitcase right there, put on a new set of clothes. I'm not going anywhere with a man who slept in his clothes."

"You know I could have very easily pointed out the inherent hypocrisy of that statement, but I chose not to because I have a deep and unabiding respect for your feelings."

He patted my cheek, smirking. "Sure you do. I'll be in the hall."


	9. In Which More Eating Occurs

The coffee at Asteroid M was actually the nectar of the gods. It was a conviction I had held since I first started coming to the small café years ago, back when I had stumbled onto it in the wee hours of the morning on my way home from a crime scene investigation that had lasted all night. The place was really no more than a hole in the wall, a glorified broom closet with chrome-topped tables and the framed covers of pulp fiction novels decorating the walls. A poster of Fritz Lang's Metropolis hung in a place of honor over the register and the counter gleamed dully in the low industrial light. I loved the place inside and out, but most of the people I brought there glanced around nervously but eventually agreed that the coffee made up for "the atmosphere", as Moira called it. For my part I felt at home in the somewhat sterile, futuristic environment- it was so far removed from the old Victorian brownstones and cobbled side streets that it almost felt like being on a different planet. I had spent a lot of time there while I was getting divorced, escaping from Magda and the lawyers inside endless cups of coffee and pastrami sandwiches.

I didn't mention any of this to Charles as we walked into Asteroid M, the bell on the door letting out a loud 'ding' as we pushed it open. His eyes swept around the cafe, taking in the metallic décor.

"I've never actually been in here before. I've walked past plenty of times, but I've never come in."

"That is a literal tragedy." I steered him towards a booth near the back of the room. "You haven't lived until you've tried this place's coffee."

"I assure you I've done a good amount of living, Erik." He raised an eyebrow as he slid onto the seat, the vinyl creaking stiffly. "And also I prefer tea."

I frowned at him over the top of the laminated menu. "How very British of you."

"I'll have you know I was born in this country."

"Explain the accent, then."

He smiled. "My parents are from England. I didn't get out of the house much when I was small, especially after my father died, and the only other people I had contact with were nannies and butlers. I had always just thought that Raven had a funny voice. You can imagine my surprise when I started school and realized that everyone sounded like her but me."

"You must have had quite the culture shock."

He laughed lightly, a stark contrast to the sarcasm that was all I had heard from him since I returned. "I think I made a very odd first impression on my schoolmates."

Just then the waitress came over, a young woman I didn't recognize, her puffy skirt looking like a bubble around her hips. She was chewing open-mouthed on a wad of faded pink gum and fiddling with her pen and pad, flipping her bleached blonde hair unconsciously as she twitched her head. She clearly didn't appreciate being made to work at seven AM; in my experience, it was always the early and late shift waitresses that were the surliest. "What are ya havin'?" She drawled monotonously. Charles squinted at his menu.

I reached across the table and pointed to an item on the shiny plastic-coated sheet. "Try the hash browns."

He shot me a frustrated glare before looking to the waitress, his irritated expression replaced with a sweet smile on those delicate lips and his blue eyes wide and innocent. "I'll have the Eggs Benedict, Allison." He said, gaze flicking down to her plastic nametag before meeting her eyes again, turning on the full force of his charm. "And a cup of Earl Grey tea on the side if you have it, love."

The waitress tittered, fluttering her heavily made-up eyelashes at him as she scribbled down his order. "Of course, hon, no problem." She glanced at me with considerably less affection than she had been showing Charles; I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "And for you?"

"Rye toast with a side of hash browns. Coffee, black." I watched her coolly from under the brim of my hat. "No sugar."

Allison snorted. "Of course. Anything else for you boys?"

"That'll be all."

She nodded and swiveled on her heel, taking a moment to wink at Charles flirtatiously over her shoulder before heading to the counter. He smiled at her, caught sight of my face, and laughed.

"Jealous, Erik?"

I flashed him a toothy grin. "If she'd just sway her hips right back into the kitchen I would be more than happy."

"Temper, temper." His foot bumped against mine under the table. If I had any doubts about its' intentions, they were washed away when the toe of his shoe brushed against my ankle, pushing up the leg of my pants. I shifted closer to Charles under the table, slouching in my seat a little until our knees were touching. "You of all people should know I'm not exactly inclined towards broads."

"So you say." I smirked. "I'd like a little more proof."

"Like you haven't had enough."

"I think I could stand to have a refresher course."

The heavy presence of Charles' knee and foot moved suddenly and I was left sprawled low and awkward across the booth as Charles crossed his legs on his lap, grinning wryly. "Maybe later."

I groaned in annoyance. "You're killing me,"

"Get used to it. I still haven't decided whether I want to punch you or kiss you." He gave Allison a cheerfully fake smile as she came back with our drinks, setting the two steaming mis-matched mugs on the formica in front of us. "Thanks, dear."

I shook my head, exasperated, and took a sip of my coffee. It wasn't quite scalding but it was still hot, and I sipped it cautiously, not wanting to burn my tongue and spoil my taste buds for the flavor once it had cooled. Even with the scorch of the heated liquid I could still recognize the dark, bitter roast of the finely ground beans, the different layers of the drink emerging the longer I held it in my mouth. My saliva glands kicked into gear big-time.

Across from me, Charles was stirring his tea and watching as I drank greedily. Compared to the heady black inside my cup his Earl Gray looked anemic, the cloud of white milk melting in as he poured it from a small, chipped, plastic pitcher. He eyed my coffee.

"I haven't lived until I've tried this coffee, huh?"

I nodded. "It's the truth. I'll swear by it."

Charles took a gulp of his tea, grimaced, and set it by his side. "I don't think those tea bags were very fresh. Or at the very least they've been kept under a sink."

"Nobody comes here for the tea, Charles. It's all about the beans." I tapped the side of my mug. He frowned, then reached over and grabbed it out of my hands.

"Fine, I'll try it. Just know that if I get poisoned by this then it's your fault."

"I will accept full blame." I raised my hands in surrender. Allison sauntered over suggestively, saw that Charles was otherwise occupied, and set the plates down with a clatter before glaring at me and hustling away. I buttered my toast with only half attention, the other half firmly focused on staring at Charles as he sipped experimentally at the coffee. His eyes widened as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing unsteadily, and I had to work hard to stifle a chuckle.

"Oh my God." He coughed. "I take back everything I said. My entire life is a lie." He took another swig, his eyes fluttering closed and his head falling back with a loud moan. "Does all coffee taste like this? Have I spent my life in service to the wrong beverage God?"

"No, this stuff is special." I laughed. The café seemed brighter, the walls reflecting the grey light from outside the windows and amplifying it. Or maybe that was just the natural effect Charles had on a room, I wouldn't put it past him. "Tea is still sacred, I wouldn't bring you all the way here just to crush your life view."

"Thank you for that." He suddenly seemed to notice the food in front of him and he spun the wobbly plate around, getting a good look at it. "I think this is the most food I've seen in one place in months."

I rook a bite of dry toast, raising my eyebrows. "What have you been living on?"

He shrugged, cutting his eggs into neat pieces with his knife and fork held in the proper posh manner. "Cheap whiskey, apples, and saltine crackers. The occasional sandwich, when I can afford to eat at a restaurant." He caught my expression. "Photojournalism doesn't pay very much. Or very regularly. I make do."

"Where are you living?"

"I mostly stay at friend's houses. Moira's been a doll; I spend a lot of my time at her place, but I don't want to seem like too much of a moocher so I'll stay at Alex's every once in a while. If I've eaten recently and I have some green leftover I'll get a hotel room for a few nights. I've managed to sweet talk one of the guys who buys my photos over at the _Enquirer _to let me sleep in their office sometimes." He waved a hand dismissively, stealing a hash brown off the side of my plate. "Wherever's warm and indoors. Or one of the two."

"Jesus, Charles," I mumbled around a fragment of bread, "That's horrible." His words brought back memories of my childhood, of my mother and I huddled into tiny converted basements in cramped tenement buildings, of her broken English as she tried to negotiate with the landlords who were actually crime lords. Remembering the clawing pain of starvation tearing at my stomach, the kids moving away suspiciously when they caught sight of me approaching in my torn, second-hand clothes, my hungry eyes watching longingly as they ate their lunches in the classroom while I sat and stared at my hands. That was no sort of a life, not for my _mamma _and me and certainly not for Charles.

The fork scraped against the plate as Charles speared another chunk of egg. "I've been trying to save up to find somewhere to live. And food is just… less important." He looked up, a frown on his face. "This is what I've chosen, Erik."

"That's not what Moira said."

He set his knife down with a rattle. "Sometimes I wish she talked a little less."

"That's no way to speak about your friend. And anyway, you were forced out of the company. Marko threw you out of your home, your family. It doesn't sound to me like you had any choice in the matter at all. You didn't deserve that. You should have a better life than this."

I moved to lay my hand over his but he flinched, shying away from my touch. "Please don't, Erik. Please, I…" He gazed at me helplessly, pleadingly. "Can't you just leave me be?"

I had a feeling that we weren't only talking about Charles' circumstances anymore, but I nodded and pulled my arm back, shoving my hands in my pockets. My plate was empty save for crumbs but Charles had over half of his meal still uneaten. I watched him as he ate, slow and silent, like he was memorizing every bite. He probably was, cataloguing the different tastes and filing them away for one of the cold nights curled on someone's couch, his stomach growling and empty. Behind the counter Allison the waitress popped her gum noisily, flipping through a lavender paperback romance novel and singing under her breath. The bright light that had seemed so illuminating a few minutes ago had turned blinding, the glare from the walls shining into my eyes and blowing out my sight.

Charles ate and I watched, and when he finished I left a handful of crisp dollar bills on the tabletop and he said nothing, leaving Asteroid M as I trailed after him.


	10. In Which A Jacket Is Retrieved

I stood outside the phone booth and watched Charles from behind the glass as he nodded, talking to the other end of the line. His voice was muted and I couldn't quite make out what he was saying, so I pressed my ear to the window in a futile attempt to listen in.

After leaving Asteroid M Charles had broken our uneasy silence by asking to borrow a nickel. It had taken me a moment to find one, nestled among the lint a the bottom of my pocket, and he had run off to find a pay phone as soon as the cool metal coin touched his fingers. It wasn't hard for me to catch up, my legs much longer than his, but the food seemed to have given him a burst of energy. I just hoped he wouldn't use it all at once.

It was still ridiculously hot, the air stagnant and humid. I fanned myself with one hand as sweat beaded on my forehead. The smells of the city were exaggerated, gasoline and concrete and restaurant grease and garbage and food carts. When one stood still, it could be a bit overpowering. I hoped Charles would hurry up so that we could get moving again and get off the streets.

There was a muffled thump as Charles hung up. I pulled my head away from the door and adjusted my body so that I leaned coolly with my back against the wall, arms crossed and nonchalant as he emerged from the booth. He flashed me a nervous smile.

"She says she'll tell Raven to meet us at the café. It'll probably take her an hour to get downtown at this time of day, so we should be back by eleven."

I nodded, pleased that the conversation with his informant- a maid in the Xavier household- had gone well. We had decided that Asteroid M was the best location for our rendez-vous with Raven: it was in a quiet, out of the way part of town, it was small, and it wasn't too far away from Alex's apartment or from my hotel. The chances of Raven being recognized were slim.

I realized with a jolt that I had referred to my office as Alex's apartment". I tried to shake off the discomfort that thought brought to my mind.

Charles looked as anxious as I suddenly felt. He shifted his weight from side to side, hands deep In his pockets, glancing down at his suit self-consciously. "Do you think she'll laugh?"

"At what?" I asked.

"Oh, don't act like you don't know what I mean." He huffed. "I look like a bum."

"You sort of are a bum." He glared at me. "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Yes, well. My current lifestyle may not be exactly glamorous, but I was still raised a gentleman." His expression softened, shifting from irritation to sadness with his eyes downcast. "And beside, I don't want to embarrass her."

"She won't be embarrassed, Charles. She's your sister." He looked unhappy despite my platitudes. I coughed awkwardly. "I, uh… might have a nicer jacket that you could wear."

Charles raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Erik, you're at least five inches taller than me. The sleeves would go down to my knees."

I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, striking a match to give my hands something to do. "The jacket isn't mine. And I'm pretty sure it'll fit you just fine."

* * *

><p>"This is a little creepy." Charles said as I pulled the rumpled suit jacket out of my bag, spreading it on the hotel bed in a vain attempt to smooth wrinkles out of the silk. "Why on Earth would you keep it? I'm sure you could have sold it for a good price."<p>

"It didn't belong to me. And besides, I never needed the dough." I lived frugally by nature, the product of an impoverished, immigrant upbringing, and in the three years I was on the run never once had my savings threatened to run dry, though I had ended up dipping into the account I had set up for my mother before she was killed once or twice. That money had been part of my dream for us; the pennies hidden away from her job as a seamstress, my policeman's paycheck safely deposited in the bank every week, saving for a car, a food, a house in the country. It was empty money after she died, and sometimes I wished that Magda had taken it with her in the divorce settlement. But it had served me well eventually, paying for motel rooms and diner meals, cigarettes and newspapers. I had never needed to sell the jacket.

I had never wanted to sell the jacket.

Charles ran a hand over the lapels. "I must have had five copies of that same suit in my closet. They're probably still there, if Kurt hasn't returned them to the store. Or burned them." He squinted at me. "What use could you have possibly had for this? It's about three sizes too small. You couldn't exactly wear it. Did you bury your nose in it at night and dream of me?" His voice was mocking, teasing. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't flatter yourself." I wasn't as pathetic as all that. The smell of his cologne had long since worn off the garment, and when it was still there I only noticed it in passing, when some of it rubbed off on one of my turtlenecks or my undershirts. Crowded together with all my worldly belongings in one tiny suitcase, keeping the jacket had been a huge waste of space, truthfully, but it had stayed there all the same, peering out at me from under spare pairs of socks and my well-worn copy of The Metamorphosis.

Charles shrugged off his cheap jacket, the synthetic fibers bulging unattractively at the badly sewn seams, and shimmied his arms through the sleeves of the silk coat. Even with the threadbare trousers and the scuffed shoes, the five-o-clock shadow and the shabby fedora, he looked elegant and dapper. Not quite as high class as the old Charles but the long-lost jacket fit him well, if a little loosely. His shoulders straightened imperceptibly, and he seemed to relax.

I cleared my throat. "I'd lose the tie, if I were you."

He tugged the tacky necktie off hastily, throwing it to the bed and undoing the top button of his shirt. He grinned at me, spreading his arms wide. "How do I look?"

His blue eyes twinkled in the shadow-heavy light that seeped in through the curtains. I felt a stirring in my chest, the animal the seemed to constantly be half-awake whenever I was around Charles growing more alert. "I'd tell you my honest opinion, but it's not appropriate for polite company."

"I'm only polite company if I'm dressed the part." He took a step towards where I sat on the bed. "Would you say it if I took this off?"

My breathing quickened. In the room above us, someone turned on a phonograph, and the scratchy sounds of Etta James buzzed mutedly through the ceiling. "I'd consider it."

The fabric made a shushing noise as it fell to the floor, Charles moving closer. He reached a tentative hand to his shirt, undoing the second button. "Now?"

"Still too formal." I shook my head. "I'd hate to say something rude in the presence of a gentleman."

"I never feel very gentlemanly around you." The third button popped open. Charles' collarbones seemed to glow, his pale skin peeping out from beneath the dark cotton shirt. He stepped closer, his knees brushing mine as he moved between my parted thighs. I looked up as he stared down, his eyes wide and uncertain but fixed on mine. The shirt slid off his shoulders. "I don't feel like much of anything around you."

I curled a hand around his hip, gently pushing him closer to me, my palm splayed on the curve of his side. I pressed my lips to his flat stomach, resting my forehead against his ribs. My eyes had closed but I could feel his fingers winding their way into the hair at the back of my neck, tangling messily as he let out a sigh, the exhale moving his body under my mouth.

"What do I look like to you now?" He breathed, nails scratching lightly against my scalp as he tightened his hold. I pressed another kiss to his stomach, the skin soft and yielding.

"Perfection."

He stood there in silence, hands in my hair. I could feel his chest rising and falling with every second, his heartbeat fainter than the music from the phonograph upstairs. Then the hands were gone, and I was left kissing air.

I opened my eyes and saw Charles standing before me, a few steps back and out of the way. He knelt and picked up his shirt and jacket, glancing at me for a moment before diverting his gaze to the carpet. "We should go. Raven will be at the café soon."

"Right." I straightened my collar. "Of course." I forced myself to look away as Charles disappeared back into his shirt, his jacket. The tie stayed on the floor, but he picked his hat up from where it had fallen and screwed it squarely onto his head.

He rolled his shoulders like a cat. "Thank you for giving me my jacket back."

"Well, you are the rightful owner."

He smiled at me faintly. "Yes, I suppose I am."


	11. In Which There is A Rendez With Vous

The tense air between Charles and I was ebbing and flowing like the tide, leaving me wobbling and unsteady. One minute he couldn't touch me enough, the next he wouldn't look me in the eye. Every time I thought we were getting closer he would pull away and we'd go right back to where we were before. It was infinitely frustrating, all the more so because I knew in the back of my mind that Charles' skittishness was my fault.

I trailed a few steps behind him as we walked the three blocks to Asteroid M, keeping my eyes fixed on the hunch of his shoulders under the old jacket. There wasn't much of a crowd, most people solidly at work on a Friday before noon, but I didn't want to risk losing sight of Charles for even a second. I felt as if I let my guard down even a little he would slip through my fingers. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Charles paused outside the small café's window, freezing in mid-step. I followed his gaze through the fingerprint-smudged glass. Asteroid M had started gathering the lunch crowd, and there were a few diners eating at the scattered tables. I looked past them, catching sight of a girl sitting at the counter. Her back was to us, but the blonde ringlets cascading down her back were instantly recognizable, even though the last time I had seen her the distinctive hair had been snipped into a short bob. I could feel Charles tense beside me, and I nudged him gently with a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on. Now or never." I muttered. He stared at her, his face a nervous mask.

"This is a bad idea. I should have never come." He looked up at me. "What if she just wants to tell me what a horrible person I am? What if Kurt put her up to it?"

"What if she's actually in trouble?" I countered. "She's your sister, Charles. You can't back out and leave her on her own, she needs you."

That struck a chord. Charles' blue eyes flashed and he nodded once, short and sharp, before looking away from me and pushing the door open. The bell rang hollowly in the café, which was silent save for the steady drip of a percolating pot of coffee. Raven glanced up from her lap, her eyes meeting Charles' as he stood in the doorway awkwardly. Her mouth opened and shut, her hands fluttering up from where they had been resting on her stomach to land flat on the counter. Beside me, Charles looked ready to bolt.

Raven launched off the swiveling stool and threw herself bodily at her brother, enveloping him in a tight hug. Charles let out a winded noise of surprise, stumbling back at the sudden weight of his sister.

"Oh my God, Charles!" She cried, burying her face in his shoulder. "I didn't think you would come!"

He wrapped his arms around her cautiously. "Of course I came, Raven, don't be ridiculous…" I raised one eyebrow and he glared at me over her shaking shoulder. "You're my sister, I wouldn't just- oh Raven, don't cry, please…"

She pulled back, wiping her face on her long sleeve. She was wearing a heavy brown wool coat and a plain blue dress that seemed a bit too tight around the middle, as if she had gained weight. Her face had always been round though, even three years ago, so it was hard to tell if I was just imagining it. She sniffed, eyes puffy and rimmed with red, and moved to sit back down. Charles grabbed her elbow gently and shook his head, taking her purse in his free hand.

"No, we'll sit somewhere more comfortable. Here, there's a booth…"

I watched as Charles led his sister over to the corner of the restaurant, trailing behind them and trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. I settled in next to Charles as Raven sat down across from us, fiddling with the strap of her leather bag. Charles reached out and took her hand, stilling it under his own.

"Raven, you remember Erik Lensherr." He said.

She nodded. "How could I forget?" Glancing down, she frowned. "What happened to your hand?"

Everyone's gaze darted down to look at the sibling's twined fingers. Charles' hands were indeed an odd contrast to Raven's- where her nails were buffed and manicured, his were bitten short and ragged, where her skin was smooth and unblemished his was spotted with scrapes and the painful beginnings of calluses. Instead of pulling away like I expected him to do, he squeezed her palm tightly, reassuringly.

"Nothing happened. I'm just still not used to hard work, yet. Would you know, washing dishes actually isn't as easy as it looks?" He smiled hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to make jokes. To his relief (and mine), Raven laughed.

"Washing dishes? Are you working in a diner?" She teased.

The atmosphere seemed to grow lighter as Charles shook his head and half-grinned. "Hardly. I'm a photographer now." He gestured to the camera around his neck. Raven reached out to touch it lightly, making sure that her stomach didn't bump against the tabletop.

"You always did have an eye for art."

He looked dubious and shrugged. "If you say so."

Raven turned back to me, her hand still locked with Charles' and her expression growing cooler and more closed off as she looked me over. "So, Erik." She asked. "What brings you back to town?"

"Oh, you know. It's easy for a man to get homesick in a world this big."

Her lips thinned like she wanted to say something else, but she flitted her eyes back to Charles and nodded instead. "So my brother told you that I need help, then."

"He did, yes." In the background Alison, the waitress from earlier, popped her bubblegum and a police car drove by, its' siren blaring, but everything seemed to have narrowed down to just the three of us sitting at that one little table.

"Can you help me?" Raven inquired.

"I helped Charles before. Found you, didn't we?"

She huffed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Right, and you must know all about missing persons, huh?"

I didn't overlook the contempt threaded through her voice but I willed myself not to be bothered by it. Charles frowned at her disapprovingly. "Raven!"

She broke eye contact with a sigh, holding up her hands. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful; I'm just sort of emotional right now.

"I understand. Don't apologize, it's a valid criticism." I toyed with a fork, the curved prongs smooth under my touch. The disassembled cutlery lay neatly on the table, the thin paper napkin missing. Alison hadn't finished setting the table before we sat down and she looked rather spiteful, which was probably why she hadn't come over yet with the menus. Either that or she recognized Charles and I from earlier and was avoiding us. My stomach growled, and I wished I hadn't scared her away during breakfast.

I ignored my hunger and turned my attention back to Raven and Charles' hushed conversation. The blonde shook her head.

"-I just didn't know who to turn to." She sounded tearful. "I'm all alone. I couldn't go to the police because Azazel's still technically wanted in association with Shaw. Kurt doesn't even know that I was seeing Azazel. No one did! Well, except for Hank."

"Hank?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Hank McCoy." Raven clarified. "He's a detective on the force."

"You remember, Erik, he was working on the Shaw case with Moira." Charles nudged my arm. "The one with the glasses."

I did remember. "Wasn't he just an officer?"

"He got a promotion about a year ago." Raven sounded proud. "He's very smart."

"Okay, but what does he have to with anything?"

"He's courting Raven." Charles whispered approvingly. His sister flushed in embarrassment and squirmed in her seat.

"He's not courting me, Charles, for Christ's sake!" She hissed. "We're just friend! And anyway, if there was any romance between us I certainly wouldn't have been telling him about…" She made a vague hand gesture, "Azazel and I."

"I'm still surprised about the existence of 'Azazel and I'." Charles said, bracketing his fingers. "I can't say I approve. At all, actually."

Raven groaned. "Don't be like that."

"I have every right to be 'like that'!" Charles glowered. "You're my baby sister, and I don't particularly like the idea of you shacking up with a crook, especially one who held you captive for nearly a week and almost got Erik and I killed, may I remind you!"

She rolled her eyes. "Jesus, you make it sound so illicit!"

"It WAS illicit! You've been sneaking around with this man- who might I add is at LEAST ten years older than you AND a wanted criminal- like some sort of love-struck teenager! For all I know he's been climbing your balcony and hiding in the closet when the maids interrupt! You're nearly twenty-four year old, you can't act like a child anymore!"

"Then stop treating me like one!" Raven snapped, slamming her hand down on the table. Alison looked up from her glossy magazine and glared in our general direction. A few other diners glanced at us nervously before returning to their food. Raven's face was flushed and screwed up in anger, her skin looking slightly blue under the pale artificial lights. "Goddammit, Charles, did you come here to lecture me or to help me? I came here because I need you, but if you're not willing to even listen to me I'm going to walk out that door and find someone else!"

"He tried to kill us." Charles argued, "He helped Shaw hold you captive. How can you say that you were in love with him?"

Raven held his gaze, her chin raised defensively. "People can change a lot, Charles."

"Yes, I'd know." He said bitterly, his voice rising in volume. "But it looks to me like you haven't changed at all. You're still wrapped up naively in your own little girl world!"

Raven opened her mouth like she was going to yell something back, but closed it soundlessly. They glared at each other without speaking, the music from the jukebox and the chatter of the diners around us bleeding in to fill the quiet. She stared straight at Charles, and when she spoke her voice was eerily calm and unwavering.

"I'm pregnant."

There was a moment where no one said anything. The three of us sat there, Charles and I shocked into silence and Raven's gaze locked with her brother's. Then suddenly her carefully stoic face crumpled and her shoulders started to heave with deep, wracking sobs. Charles leapt up like the booth was on fire and slid in next to Raven, wrapping his arms around her shaking body and rocking her back and forth.

"Oh God." He muttered into her hair as she cried against his chest. "Oh God, Raven, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never would have said those things, oh _Raven_, why didn't you _say…_"

"It's his." She gasped. "It's Azazel's, Charles, and now he's gone and I don't know what to do!"

"We'll find him." Charles hugged her tightly, stroking her hair. For a second I caught a glimpse of the two siblings like they might have been years ago, as children, hiding in Charles' room from an angry, drunk stepfather and a violent stepbrother. "I'm sorry, Raven, and I promise you we will find him."


	12. In Which A Morgue Is Visited

Thunder rumbled menacingly overhead as Charles and I walked deeper into the bowels of downtown. I squinted up into the sky, grey clouds gathering over the sun. Charles bumped my shoulder gently.

"It looks like it's finally going to rain." He sighed. "God knows it' about time."

The air was sticky and humid and I could taste ozone on the back of my tongue. "I can't complain, but we should probably hurry up and get indoors before it starts"

Charles nodded. "We can head to the newspaper offices, if you'd like. They're just around the corner and we might be able to find out some more information on Azazel."

A droplet of rain fell on my hat, welling up and dripping off the brim. I looked down. "Sounds good. But we might need to run."

A drop splashed soundly onto Charles' nose. He flinched, glanced up, and then glanced at me. "Oh, shit."

And then the heavens opened.

We dashed down the sidewalk as rain pelted down on us from all directions, the sudden cool wind whipping our coats up. Charles held his collar with one hand, his grey suit jacket turning black in a second. Water sheeted into my eyes and I blinked furiously, cursing as I stepped in a puddle and soaked my ankles. Charles hand found mine and he tugged me after him, running in the rain.

We ducked under a forest green awning, taking shelter under the dry canopy. I leaned against the brick wall, catching my breath as the grey sky pelted down water.

Charles laughed breathlessly. "I think I've well and truly ruined this suit."

"That's a shame, it looked great on you." Charles kept laughing, his shoulders shaking up and a hand pressed over his mouth, eyes shut tightly. It took me a second to realize that he wasn't laughing anymore- he was crying. I squeezed his hand tentatively. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Sorry." Charles hiccupped, tear tracks drying on his face. "I don't know what's come over me."

I did. "Don't worry about it. You've had a shock, it's normal to get emotional after receiving news like that."

He sagged against me, loose and tired and boneless. "My little sister is pregnant." He said out loud, as if he was still struggling to wrap his head around it. "What did I do wrong?"

I sighed. "It isn't all about you, Charles."

He scowled, pulling had hand out of mine. "I know that!" He snapped. "But I still feel like this is my fault! I wasn't there when she needed me and now she's in trouble. I fucked up, Erik!"

"Here," I passed him a cigarette. "You'll feel better."

"I doubt that." He muttered, leaning in for me to light it. My matches were slightly damp and I had to pull one from dead center in order for it so much as spark. Charles inhaled deeply, ashy blue smoke curling around his face. "I'm being a prima donna, aren't I?"

"A little bit." I held back a small smile. "Look, Charles, there are much worse things that can happen to a girl than having a baby. You should just be thankful that she's in one piece."

"I am. I mean…" He paused, searching for the right words The rain battered steadily down on the canvas shelter roof above us, the unexpected storm still going strong. "I'm glad she's healthy. But I'm really worried anyway, I mean, do you know what kind of a stigma having a child out of wedlock will bring down on her head? Especially with the father having such a… colorful past. It's certainly going to be hell for her to deal with."

I shrugged. "She could always give it up for adoption."

Charles shook his head vehemently. "Not a chance. When we were kids Raven was always talking about how she would never leave her baby on it's own if she had children. Adoption has always been a sore spot for her- I don't think she'll ever forgive her birth mother for abandoning her."

"How old was she when your parents adopted her?"

Charles smiled nostalgically around the cigarette, his voice thick with affection. "Eight. She broke into our house, and I caught her in the kitchen, stealing food. It took some persuading for mother to warm up to her, but my dad took a shine to her right away." He sighed. "She was devastated when he died. We all were." He dropped his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his heel. "We should head in. Every minute counts, right?" It was obvious he wanted to move on. I obliged him, pushing into the buildings' revolving glass door.

"So you work here?" I asked, glancing around. The newspaper's office's lobby was small but spacious, brightly lit and neat with the paper's name- The Eagle- stenciled onto a wall in navy blue letters.

Charles shrugged. "Sort of. I use their darkroom to develop my photos. Most of the reporters don't pay any attention to me, but the editor buys some off me in return for using the premises."

"Sounds like a good deal."

"Well. It doesn't pay much, but it's better than nothing."

A man turned the corner ahead of us, nearly bumping into me. He wore a crisp shirt in a noxious shade of lime green, a waistcoat two sixes too small wrapped around his bulging middle. His eyes widened as he caught sight of Charles and he grinned, smoothing orange hair off his shiny pink forehead.

"Charles!" He roared, tone jovial but eyebrows drawn together over his forehead, not matching his smile. "You look like a drowned rat! Been taking a swim in a whiskey bottle again?"

I felt my anger stirring at the fat man's mocking tone. Charles gritted his teeth and I could see his fists as they balled in his jacket pockets.

"It's raining." He mutters half-heartedly. The fat man clapped him hard on the back.

"I'm sure it is." He chuckled cruelly. "Don't trip over your own feet, now."

"Uh… right." Charles looked mortified and angry, his ale face flushing with embarrassment. He was practically radiating discomfort. I took a step closer to them and laid a hand on Charles' shoulder possessively.

"Charles, we're going to be late." I said, pointedly not making eye contact with the fat man. He shot me a thankful glance.

"Of course. Goodbye, Harry."

The fat man leered. "Bye, Charles. Maybe I'll see you at the bar sometime." He waddled away, laughing at his own comment. Charles wrenched his arm out of my grasp and stalked down the hallway, shoes squeaking on the linoleum. I jogged to catch up w, narrowly avoiding the puddles he was leaving behind him while no doubt creating plenty of my own.

"What was all that about?" I asked.

"Nothing important." He lied. There was practically steam coming out of his ears.

"Come on, Charles, he obviously has you upset. Who is that guy?"

Charles came to a halt outside and olive green door and fished around in his trouser pocket. "Harry Leland." HE growled, stabbing the lock furiously and then cursing when he realized he had the wrong key. "He's a lawyer. He donates a lot f money to the paper, so everyone has to be nice to him." He snorted. "'Donates money.' Who am I kidding? He pays people to keep their mouths shut."

I wrinkled my nose in distaste. Bribery. The sleaziest of all crimes. Leland had given off an air of greasy filth even in his spotless, expensive clothes, and now it made sense. "He seems like a creep."

"He is." Charles went silent, examining the lock very closely. I got the feeling he was holding something back; sure enough, Charles face creased in a deep scowl. "He's a friend of Cain's. From boarding school I had to spend my summers growing up being tormented by him and my stepbrother. At first they tried to pick on Raven, but once they realized that I would defend her they shifted their attention to me." He grimaced. "I suppose I was an easier target because I never fought back unless it was for Raven."

I frowned. "Who was that?

Charles snorted. "Because she needed someone to protect her. Me, though? If I fought back it just would have been worse. Don't let Leland's girth fool you, he's all muscle." He shuddered. "And Cain always had cigarettes on him. He's smoked since he was twelve."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh look, the door's open." He exclaimed quickly, pushing into the dark room and flicking on a switch. "Come on, let's just get what we need and leave."

"Fine." Despite my curiosity, I was learning to pick my battles with Charles; he obviously wasn't going to say anymore on the matter. I followed him in.

The room was tiny, cramped and hard to navigate with thin metal filing cabinets lining the walls. They were mismatched and in different states of disrepair, bought at different times. The tallest went up to about level with my eye, and the shortest were only one drawer tall, coming up only to Charles' knee. All re-painted the same dingy grey as the walls they jutted out in all directions, making a serious toe-stubbing hazard. Trying to maneuver through the small gaps in between them was tricky, and I banged my elbows more than once.

"Where are we?" I asked, heading after Charles. He had opened one of the cabinets are was rifling through a beige file, licking the tips of his fingers and using them to peel sticky pages apart.

"The morgue." He said, not looking up.

I raised an eyebrow. "I knew the city's economy wasn't great, but I certainly hope they aren't keeping corpses in those drawers. They're a bit small."

Charles rolled his eyes, shoving the file back in and shutting the aluminum door with a clang. "The newspaper morgue, Erik, really. It's where they keep back issues. For reference."

"Ah. Right."

He pulled open another file and stared hard at the headline before sighing and dropping it back in. "I'm trying to find editions from the year Azazel was arrested. From the way Raven talked about it, it must have been a reasonably big case, so I'm sure it's mentioned somewhere. She said he was thirty-seven now, and it happened when he was twenty-five, so that's…"

I did the subtraction in my head. "Twelve years ago." A grimace spread over my face. "That's a long time to work for Shaw."

"That's a long time to work for anyone." Charles made a sound of triumph and waved a floppy packet of yellowed papers at me. "Here! I found the right year, now we just have to find the right issue. Come help me look for it."

He handed me a file. A white sticker on the front read 'February'. "This is going to take forever."

Charles frowned. "You're a detective. Surely you're used to digging."

"Yeah, through well-labeled police records. Or people's trash. I've never had this much material to get through before; I usually investigate with physical evidence. You know, taking pictures, asking questions, shooting the locks off doors."

"I certainly hope you got warrants first."

You're funny." I finished looking through the February file and picked up March. "Found anything yet?"

"Not yet." Charles shook his head. "I was twenty this year. Raven was thirteen. While she was starting junior high, Azazel was running guns for Shaw. I just can't not be bothered by that."

I scanned a brittle page for mention of a Russian murderer, a factory, a trial. "Well, she wasn't sleeping with him then. She's a grown woman."

"I know, I know." He ran a hand over his face. "But it's hard to think of her as anything but my baby sister.

I grabbed the June folder but it slipped from my fingers, dropping and spilling papers all over the floor. I swore and got down on my knees, trying to fish the scattered pages out from where they had slid under the cabinets. Charles let out a startled cry at the mess. "Jesus, Erik be careful!"

I smoothed out the wrinkled sheet I had rescued from the ground. It was from the inner folds of the paper, short blurbs about local events. Something caught my eye and I squinted at the newsprint. "I think I've got something."

"Really?" Charles knelt down, peering over my shoulder. "What is it?"

I stabbed my finger at an article near the bottom of the page. It was barely a paragraph long, with no picture, but it was the headline that had caught my attention. "'Wagner Vs. State Ends In Dismissal'." I read aloud. "Didn't Raven say that Azazel's last name was Wagner?"

"Is there anything about the case?" Charles asked. I read the first few lines carefully.

"Yeah, this is definitely it. Here, listen: 'Russian factory worker Viktor Wagner was acquitted of murder Wednesday morning in a twist ending to what initially appeared to be an open and shut case. Accused of killing a co-worker at the Strauss steel working facility, Wagner was saved from hanging by a sudden intervention by his lawyer, Harold Leland."

I heard Charles suck in a breath behind me. "Son of a bitch."

I turned to look at him. "Leland was already a certified lawyer back then?"

Charles nodded. "He's a year older than Cain; that makes him five years older than me. He took the bar exam when he was twenty-four- I remember him and Cain getting drunk on my father's good whiskey to celebrate." He scowled. "It would have taken him much longer to get any sort of job at all, but his daddy bought him a place at an upscale law firm and that was that."

"The more I hear about this guy the less I like him." I said. "And I didn't like him very much in the first place." I folded around the article and ripped it around the edges. Charles cried out.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking the paper with me. It might be useful." I tucked the torn article into my breast pocket, making sure it was safe and dry under my coat.

"I'm pretty sure that constitutes stealing."

"Who's going to miss it?" I stood up. "Clearly Leland was mixed up with Shaw at some point. If he knew Azazel, he might know what's happened to him."

Charles shoulders sagged. "We really have to talk to him, don't we."

"I'm afraid so."

"I was hoping to avoid that." He sighed. "Let me guess: You want me to call him up, ask him for a meeting"

I shook my head, reaching out to run my thumb along the curve of his cheek. "Not s you're uncomfortable. I saw how edgy he made you; I'm not going to force you to be in the same room as him. Especially not if there's any chance things could get ugly. Just give me his phone number and I'll do this alone."

He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch gratefully. "Thanks," he breathed.

"You don't even have to be here now. If you don't think you can deal with this…"

His eyes snapped open. "I can deal." He bit out. "I'm not weak, Erik, I just-"

"Hey calm down." I held up my hands placatingly. "There's no need to get defensive, Charles. Don't put words in my mouth; I didn't say you were weak."

His eyes closed again and he pressed his forehead to my chest. "Sorry." He glanced up at me. "Be careful what you say to Leland, okay? He's dangerous."

"Don't worry about me. I used to deal with asshole lawyers all the time when I was still a cop."

"He's more than just an arsehole, though." Charles warned. "He's smart. Keep on your toes and go in with your back to the wall."

"Why?"

Something hard glinted in his eye. "Because otherwise he'll sneak up behind you and bash your head in with a blunt instrument."


End file.
